Daughter. There was that word again, although it was coming to his mind with much more frequency considering the fact he still wasn’t one hundred percent convinced Trina was his. He used the internet search engine on his smartphone and typed in the letters “DNA,” but a wave of guilt crashed into him before he could add the word “test.” It felt wrong to even think about blood tests and genetic proof while she was right there in the room, peacefully sleeping after what she’d been through this morning. It wasn’t like he would get any answers today, anyway. Even if he did, would it change the fact that her mother had already abandoned her and she had nowhere else to go?
He shoved the phone into the back pocket of his jeans and went into the second bedroom to stare at the dozen or so cardboard boxes piled everywhere. The framed picture on his mantel had been a gift from Luke and Carmen when Ethan had moved to town. The sad-looking silk plant beside it was small enough to fit in his rucksack and served as a reminder that no matter where he went, his old man was always with him.
These boxes held the remaining contents of his life, but he couldn’t exactly remember what he’d placed in them before leaving it all in storage. He rolled up his sleeves then hefted one onto his shoulder. He didn’t bother opening any of them as he set to work transferring each box to his own bedroom. Whatever was in them obviously wasn’t something he’d needed in the past six months. Or even longer, considering he’d likely packed them right after that last deployment that had ended in disaster and resulted in his best friend flying home in a flag-draped casket.
He honestly wasn’t sure what he needed anymore. All he knew was what he didn’t need—and that was to have someone else depending on him.
Because the last time he’d been responsible for another person, they’d ended up dying under his watch.
Chapter Four
“Why isn’t she in school?” Monica whispered when Ethan walked over to the circulation desk at the library on Thursday afternoon. Freckles sent her a text saying he hadn’t come into the Cowgirl Up this morning—as if Monica cared or had all kinds of spare time to add Ethan and his daughter to her already growing list of worries.
Apparently, though, her boss felt the need to keep her apprised of things that weren’t her business. And now she was mad at herself for thinking about that text all day. And even madder at the fact that she was currently taking her annoyance out on him.
“I’ll get around to registering her eventually,” he said, yanking off his thick jacket and revealing his normal uniform of a soft flannel shirt and jeans that fit his slim hips perfectly. “But I’m trying not to rush anything. We’re still getting to know each other.”
Trina was at least dressed more appropriately for the snowy weather today, so that was a point in Ethan’s fatherhood column. Monica jutted her chin toward the bright green coat as it appeared between the YA aisle and the audiobooks. “I see you took her shopping for some new clothes.”
“Actually, Kylie and Mia brought that stuff over.”
“Then what have you guys been doing the past day and a half?” Monica hated the nosiness of her tone, but she couldn’t quash her curiosity.
“Working,” Ethan replied simply. She knew he and Kane Chatterson restored Victorian homes and took on general contracting jobs. In fact, she’d hired them to repair one of the walls in Gran’s kitchen that had been damaged in a fire last November. The job had only taken a few days and Monica had been able to leave each morning before they’d arrived, returning home long after they were gone.
Which meant she didn’t have to gaze at Ethan’s muscular body, on full display as he moved around her kitchen like a member of Magic Mike’s dance troupe.
“You mean you’re taking her to construction sites with you?”
“I don’t know what else to do with her.”
That brought Monica back to her first question and she wanted to grab hold of the lapels on the man’s flannel shirt and give him a good shake. “So then why isn’t she in school?”
“I hate school,” Trina said, setting down a stack of five books on the checkout desk. She turned to her father and asked, “Do you have a library card?”
Ethan’s response was to scrunch his nose, as though his daughter had just asked him if he had four arms. “No. Why would I?”
Her groan was dramatic and typical of most kids her age. “To check out books?”
That’s right. When Monica had handed Ethan the copy of Rejection for Dummies last week, her tummy had been too tied in knots by his knowing wink and his straight white teeth under his crooked grin. She’d been in such a hurry to get him out of the library, she hadn’t even bothered to properly check out the book.
“How do we get Trina a library card?” Ethan asked.
“Fill this out.” Monica handed him an application form and one of the stubby golf pencils from the plastic holder by her computer while her eyes stayed on Trina. “Why don’t you like school?”
“It’s boring. Do you have any of the new books by Veronica Roth?”
“Do you like that series?”
She shrugged. “It’s okay.”
Monica studied the girl before pointing toward the shelf with the new releases. When Trina was out of earshot, she leaned across the counter at Ethan, who was still completing the application. “Pssst. Did you even look at the books she wants?”
“No. Why?” His face was inches from her, and she could smell the mint on his breath as he whispered back. “Are they inappropriate?”
“What? No. It’s just that they’re at a high school reading level, which means she must be fairly smart.”
“Guess the apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree.” He winked at her and Monica felt the heat fill her cheeks. It hadn’t taken him too long to fall back into his flirtatious comfort zone.
“My point,” Monica continued, her jaw tight, “is that she shouldn’t be hanging out on construction sites all day.”
“Are you saying that smart people can’t be found at construction sites?” Something crossed his face and instead of immediately regretting her comment, Monica’s blood pumped faster with frustration. She had a feeling he’d purposely chosen to twist her words into an insult.
“Not when they’re supposed to be in school, Ethan.”
“Maybe I should argue with you more often.” His eyes turned a deeper shade, and his knowing smile returned. “I like it when you use my first name.”
“Well, I like it when you don’t aggravate me beyond all common sense.”
“Good to know that I can make you like something.” Ethan gave a tiny chuckle at her gasp, and then his face grew more serious. “Listen, I’ll admit that I don’t know the first thing about parenthood. But Trina’s been through a lot and I’m doing the best I can. I don’t want to push her too much.”
Some of the heat died down in Monica’s veins as she studied Ethan’s face for a sign of sincerity. She wanted to think he had his daughter’s best interest at heart, but really, Monica didn’t know the guy at all.
“What grade are you in, Trina?” she asked when the girl returned.
“Fifth, I guess.”
“You guess?” Monica and Ethan repeated in unison.
Trina shrugged. “I haven’t been in a while.”
Ethan stood up straighter, the pint-size pencil seeming miniscule in his strong, work-roughened hands. “How long is a while?”
“It’s not like I need to go, you guys. I already know most of the stuff the teacher taught, anyway.”
“Actually, you do need to go,” Ethan argued. “It’s the law.”
“God, now you sound like my truancy officer.”
Truancy officer? That must mean the girl had a well-documented history of not attending class. She could see the muscles working in Ethan’s jaw as he held himself perfectly still. Hopefully, he wasn’t angry with Trina. After all, it wasn�
��t her fault that her mother had been a...a what? Monica swallowed down the judgment.
How did she know what Trina’s mother had been through? A kid herself when she’d given birth, and then never seeing the father of her child or getting any help from him whatsoever? What kind of mother would Monica have been in that situation?
“The schools here in Sugar Falls are different,” Monica offered because Ethan’s frozen-eyed stare suggested he could use a second voice of reason. “I know most of the teachers, and they would probably be willing to work with you if you test into a higher level than the rest of the class.”
“You mean like skip a grade?” the girl asked, her eyes flickered with interest.
“I don’t know about that, but they have all kinds of programs and opportunities for exceptional students.”
Trina’s fingers were twitching and Monica saw the girl’s feet make small, retreating steps as if she didn’t know whether she should take off again. “I don’t even have a backpack.”
“I’ll tell you what,” Ethan said. “Why don’t we go to the school tomorrow? Monica can call her teacher friends and let them know you’re coming. You can take a look around, we can maybe get you registered for those exceptional student classes, and then we’ll go down to Boise this weekend and buy some school supplies?”
Exceptional student classes. Monica couldn’t believe she’d used that description and she couldn’t tell if Ethan knew she’d been improvising that last part. But the fact remained that the child needed to go to school.
“But how will you know what I need?” Trina asked Ethan, her voice laced with doubt. Then the girl turned a pair of pleading eyes to Monica. “Would you come shopping with us?”
Monica’s voice stuck in her throat and she couldn’t form a proper response. After all, she’d been the one to push for the girl to go to school in the first place.
Which was why, two days later, Monica found herself driving down the mountain to Boise with a former Navy SEAL and his new daughter.
* * *
Ethan wasn’t sure how Trina had done it, but in less than seventy-two hours, she’d accomplished the one thing Ethan hadn’t been able to do the past six months—gotten Monica Alvarez to go somewhere in public with him.
Not that it was a date. There was an eleven-year-old riding in the crew cab of his old work truck and, even though his daughter was wearing her headphones and listening to the music she’d figured out how to stream on his smartphone, Trina’s presence was chaperone enough.
He’d tried to make conversation with Monica but all she’d seemed to want to discuss was how Trina was feeling—pretty healthy judging by how many groceries she’d already gone through after their initial trip to Duncan’s Market; how Trina was adjusting—hard to tell since she rarely said more than a sentence or two at a time; and how the school registration went—much longer than anticipated since Trina skipped out to the girls’ bathroom twice during the math assessment test. “I’m starting to wonder if she has a nervous stomach or something.”
“Maybe you should take her to see a doctor?” Monica suggested in her quiet librarian voice.
“We have an appointment next week. Mrs. Dunn, the school nurse, was able to find some vaccination records in the files her old school sent over.” Ethan looked in his rearview mirror to ensure Trina was still wearing the headphones before whispering, “From what we gathered, her mother never took her so unless her grandmother got her to a doctor before she passed away, who knows when she last saw any sort of medical professional.”
Monica winced. “Any word from the caseworker?”
“Not yet, which has me even more on edge because who knows what I’m going to find out from that report?” The guilt had kept Ethan up every night this week, eating away at him until all he wanted to do was drown out his crippling thoughts with a stiff drink. Flipping on his turn signal with so much force it bounced back into place, Ethan took a deep breath as he eased his foot off the accelerator. “Every time I want to get mad at Chantal for being so damn negligent with my child, I’m faced with the fact that I have no room to talk. At least she was around part of the time and did more than me.”
If he’d been hoping that Monica would’ve said something to ease his guilt, he would have to wait longer. Trina took her earbuds out as he pulled the truck into the parking lot of the Boise Towne Square.
When was the last time he’d gone to an actual mall like this? Even before his shopping destination of choice had changed from the tactical supply store to the local hardware store, Ethan had ordered most of his stuff online. When he did come into the city for essentials, it was for new running shoes or to stock up on work jeans. Obviously, he’d never had to spend much time in the kids’ department or the school supply aisle.
Looking at Monica, who was wearing a plain, gray wool coat with her jeans and an old pair of cowboy boots, he got the impression that keeping up with the latest trends wasn’t her top priority either. Not that she didn’t look great in her clothes, he corrected himself as the muscles in his thighs tightened. Hell, the woman would probably look good in a baggy pair of camo pants. But she was one of those no-nonsense, no-makeup-wearing types. The kind of person who dressed for function, not for fashion.
Maybe that’s why his attraction to her grew every time he laid eyes on her. There was definitely something sexy about a woman who didn’t have to try too hard, didn’t have to flaunt it.
Monica and Trina walked across the parking lot side by side murmuring to each other and Ethan kept behind them. All he could think about was the shape of Monica’s denim-clad legs while he counted down the seconds until they got inside and she removed her jacket, giving him a glimpse of her rounded backside in those jeans.
She and Trina might have been talking about which stores they needed to go to first or what they should buy, however, Ethan wanted no part of that strategy. He was just there to hand over his credit card and to carry the bags. When they entered the mall, the blast from the heater—along with Ethan’s overactive imagination when it came to Monica’s rear end—made him wish he would’ve left his own coat out in the truck.
“Some of the women in town suggested we go to that juniors store on the first floor,” Monica suggested, and the entire way through the shopping center Ethan looked for a safe spot where he could hunker down and wait. Instead, he was forced to follow them into a place where the loud pop music assaulted his eardrums and the cloying, fruity perfume samples assaulted his manhood. He prayed that Monica knew what she was doing.
“I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing,” Monica said twenty minutes later when she plopped down beside him on the pink velvet upholstered bench right inside the store. “This has to be the eighth time we’ve heard this Justin Bieber song and I haven’t seen Trina since she went into the dressing room with a stack of clothes.”
Ethan sprung up. “Did she take off again?”
“No, I can see her shoes under the door.”
“But are they on her feet?”
“Yep. I checked.” Monica tapped the side of her head, indicating she was smart enough to already think of that.
“So then why hasn’t she picked anything yet?” he groaned, slouching against the glitter painted wood of the bench’s backrest.
“I don’t know. Some girls get really self-conscious about their bodies around this age. I know I was.”
He looked her up and down, desire shooting through him. “Are you kidding? What in the world would you have to be self-conscious about?”
“I didn’t always look like this, though. Just like you probably didn’t always look like...” A blush stole up Monica’s cheeks and he hoped it wasn’t just the heat inside the mall.
“Like what?” The corner of his mouth lifted.
“Like a wall of muscle with a little head on top.”
“My head’s not little.” Ethan rubbed at his hair that
was longer than regulation. “But feel free to call me a wall of muscle anytime.”
“Back to your daughter.” Monica rolled her eyes. “I asked her if she needed any help or different sizes, but she insisted she was fine. At first I thought she was nervous about trying the stuff on. But now that I’m thinking about it, she was pretty focused on the price tags when we were looking through the racks. She could be worried about how much things cost and what you can afford.”
“I can afford it,” Ethan replied, his boots firmly planted apart. In fact, being a single guy without many expenses up until now meant that he could afford quite a few shopping sprees.
“That’s none of my business. However, maybe you could give Trina a budget so she knows how much she can spend.”
“Fine,” he muttered as he clenched his fingers into fists and strode deeper into the store as though he was in full tactical gear and had just been briefed on conducting a hostage extraction. Taking note of any alternate exit routes on his way to the fitting rooms, he stealthily steered away from an entire shelf devoted to sequined pillows, averted his eyes when he passed a round clothes rack loaded down with of what could’ve been white training bras, and then successfully avoided knocking over a display of glitzy BFF necklaces.
“Hey, Trina,” he called into the hallway leading toward the partitioned rooms. However, he had to repeat himself to be heard over the pop music blasting from the speakers, the two preteen girls squealing over their matching outfits, and a frazzled-looking mom arguing with her daughter about being too young for something called “booty shorts.”
“I don’t think she can hear you,” Monica said from behind him.
The SEAL's Secret Daughter Page 5
