He stood up, realized they were far too close to one another. Her cheeks were flushed a rosy pink. Her blue-green eyes were gentle, and her mouth…
Tipping her chin up, he took a taste of those lips. So soft and enticing. When she made a tiny entreating sound, he gathered her into his arms and took the kiss deeper, feeling her warmth, her curves against him, yielding and arousing.
She went up on tiptoes and put her arms around his neck.
His cock surged to hardness, and he cupped her ass with one hand, holding her against him. Her tongue fenced with his, her mouth hot and needy.
But when he pulled back, planning to uncover her breasts so he could enjoy them, sanity surfaced.
“Estúpido.” He took another step back and captured her hands. “We were not going to do this. We will not.”
Her gaze met his, desire giving way to dismay. “I’m sorry. Really. I didn’t come in here planning to…to do anything other than talk.”
He touched her cheek. The urge to pull her back, to lay her out on the desk, to hear her moan, scream. No. That urge must be throttled.
He could and would protect her in this way.
“I know you didn’t, princesa. I’m sorry too.” He glanced at his blades, tucked some away in his belt and boot sheaths, and waved her toward the door. “Let me walk you to your car.”
She gave him a rueful smile. “Actually, I think we should call Bull and ask him for a ride.”
Chapter Eight
A person’s a person, no matter how small. ~ Horton the elephant
* * *
It had been a long—and far-too-fast—few days.
The expedited paternity test had shown Caz was a father.
Since then, he’d been trying to hasten getting Regan released to him. Because the other foster children were picking on her. His little girl.
He’d called Dr. Zachary Grayson. The respected children’s psychologist was an old friend of Mako’s and had known Caz for a couple of decades now. Grayson agreed that the less time Regan spent in foster care, the better, and had lent his influence to move things along.
Today, Caz would take his daughter home to Alaska. “Congratulations, pinche culero, you’re a father.”
He didn’t feel like one. From Regan’s withdrawn response upon meeting him, she wasn’t impressed either.
Meeting her had rendered him speechless. Their meetings with either Mrs. Townsend or the foster mother nearby were awkward. As a health professional, he was skilled with drawing people out, with interacting. With a daughter he should have known about, should have been there for her first laugh, her first word, her first steps. Have taught her to use a spoon, to brush her teeth. Have dried her tears. The weight of those missed years had rendered him speechless. Clumsy.
Now, Regan would be dependent on a person she barely knew. He remembered all too well what that’d been like.
Caz pulled the rental car up to the door of the foster home where Regan was stationed. Housed. Whatever. He glanced up at the sky. “If you’re keeping an eye on us, Sarge, I could use some help here.”
He knew what Mako would say. “Cowards never start. The weak never finish. Winners never quit.” And that was that. He’d do his best by his daughter. He could offer her no less.
He got out of the car, squared his shoulders, and marched up to the house.
Mrs. Townsend waited in the open doorway. She was a small woman, gray hair left natural, glasses perched on her nose and kinder than a first impression might convey. She smiled. “Good morning, Mr. Ramirez. Regan should be here in a—”
At a noise, she glanced over her shoulder. Her eyes widened.
He followed her gaze. “Well.”
His daughter had a bloody graze on one cheek, a swollen lip, hair in a tangle. Blood on a skinned knee.
* * *
As Regan crossed the living room, her face hurt, and so did her knee where she’d landed on the concrete. Tears stung her eyes, so she screwed her face into a fierce look. That stinkface Haley couldn’t make her cry. No one could make her cry. She was—
“How badly are you hurt, Regan?” A man’s voice made her look up and take a step back.
It was the guy who Mrs. Townsend said was for sure her father. Only Mom’d said he was dead. How could someone make a mistake about being dead?
He crouched down in front of her. His eyebrows, just as dark as hers, went up. “Regan?”
The question, the…almost worry…in his face made something inside her feel weird, like she’d eaten too much ice cream or something.
Her chin rose. “I’m fine.”
“Ah, of course you are, chiquita,” he said, not shouting or anything. He talked to her like she talked to the cat from next door—all soft and careful.
“Let’s get your scrapes cleaned up and bandaged before we leave, yes?” He moved forward and put his hand on her shoulder. “Mrs. Townsend, could you round up some first-aid supplies, please?”
To Regan’s shock, he scooped her up, took her in the bathroom, and set her on the counter. Her words got stuck in her throat as he gently washed the blood and dirt from her leg.
“It doesn’t bother you to see blood, does it?”
“Uh-uh.”
He picked up the goo stuff, and she tensed. Instead of rubbing it into her scrape like the foster mom did, he squirted some on the Band-Aid. “Good. You’re a tough child.”
As he applied the Band-Aid, his nod said he liked her being tough. That he thought she was brave.
Her chest got that squishy feeling again, until she remembered she really wasn’t brave.
He wouldn’t like her once he really knew her. What would she do then?
Caz settled into the plane seat with a sigh of relief and forced his hands to stay still as Regan fastened her own seatbelt. Successfully. When she looked up at him, he smiled. “Very good.”
Damn airports always left him on edge. But today, it’d been worse. He’d read too many headlines of lost children, kidnapped children, children hurt in terrorist attacks. He was okay with getting hurt himself, but no one—no one—was going to mess with his girl. Just the thought made him clench his teeth and growl.
When she shot him a worried glance, he wanted to kick himself. He was an idiot. Keeping her safe needed to start with him.
“Sorry, Regan.” A portion of the truth might help. “I was in the military for a while, and now I don’t like places with too many people.”
Her little brows drew together. “Because guys might have guns and shoot at you?”
Or shoot at the child he’d vowed to protect. That was far worse. “That’s it exactly.”
“Oh. You can hold my hand if you need to.”
Everything inside his chest melted into one big puddle.
“Thank you, mija.” Her heart was a generous one. An empathetic one.
She curled her tiny hand around his and looked around. Listened intently as the flight attendant delivered the inevitable safety lecture.
“Is this the first time you’ve been on a plane?” Caz asked her.
“Uh-huh. I’ve only been places in California.”
He wasn’t surprised.
Mrs. Townsend had put together Regan’s history. When Regan was a baby, Crystal had stayed with her mother until the woman’s death. Then Crystal worked as a hairdresser, not keeping a job for long. The woman had lived with a series of men, and they’d apparently grown less honest. Less decent. She and one boyfriend had been arrested for dealing. That had been Regan’s first stay in the foster care system. Unfortunately, no one had questioned Crystal’s statement that Regan’s father was dead. Mrs. Townsend hadn’t either, actually. She’d simply been looking for possible relatives of his who might take Regan. With no current reason to hide his existence, the military had been forthcoming, and the social worker discovered Caz was alive and well.
Crystal’s last boyfriend had talked her into robbing a mini-mart—and the bastard had shot the cashier. Crystal went to jail and died
of a subdural hematoma after brawling with another inmate.
Mrs. Townsend hadn’t been able to tell him much about Regan’s relationship with her mother. During interviews, Crystal spent the time raging about her conviction and the boyfriend instead of discussing her daughter. Regan hadn’t been forthcoming, either. He’d been the same—answering questions if prodded, but not offering any extra information.
Hopefully, Caz could learn more if he used a more subtle approach. “Did you and your mother ever go camping or visit the forests?”
“No. Mom didn’t like dirt much.” She hesitated. “Is that bad?”
Caz chuckled. “No, chiquita. It just means Alaska will be as full of surprises for you as it was when I first arrived there. I was younger than you are when I lost my family—my mamá and my sister. I went into foster care”—her eyes went wide—“and ended up in Alaska with Mako, who raised me.”
“Your mom died?”
“When I was seven.” Then he’d been in foster care off and on for a year. All too often, he’d been placed in negligent—or terrifying—homes and would run away and attempt to survive on the streets. He was small, but fast, and that was where he’d first discovered the silent equalizer—a blade.
Regan stared at their entwined fingers in her lap before turning her big brown eyes up again. “You lost your family, but you said you got brothers. How?”
“Mako took me and three other boys to Alaska. We ended up calling ourselves brothers.”
“Huh.”
He needed to talk about something less worrying.
In fact, he had an assignment from his shopping team at home. Last night, he’d called and asked Audrey if she’d do some shopping. Audrey had not only agreed but also asked him if she could take Lillian and JJ. It was a great idea. He had a feeling JJ’s career and the mess in Weiler had left the officer bereft of female friends. Perhaps even a little wary. He’d approved and asked Audrey to push JJ if needed. Dios, he hoped he hadn’t stepped in it.
Meantime, he’d like to give Audrey and crew some suggestions before they left for Kenai.
He looked down at his daughter. His daughter. How long before he became used to that word? “Now and then, I like to play a get-to-know-you game.” He’d used questions like these as icebreakers with women, then adapted them for anxious pediatric patients. “It’s a good way to kill time. You in?”
Her wary expression broke his heart, but she nodded.
“Good enough. What’s your favorite color?”
She blinked as if she’d expected an uncomfortable question. Then she smiled. Dios, she was beautiful. “Red. I like red.”
Answering her expectant look, he told her, “Mine is blue. Favorite food?”
“Pizza.”
“Can’t argue with that. Mine, too.” That netted him a delighted grin. “Although ice cream might come in second.”
She nodded enthusiastically.
“Favorite thing to wear.”
“Uh, jeans and T-shirts.” She gave him a worried little-girl frown. “I don’t like dresses.”
“I don’t wear dresses either.”
She giggled, lightening his heart.
Okay, she wasn’t a girly-girl, then—and wasn’t that a relief? “I like jeans and T-shirts, too. Favorite things to do when you’re not in school?”
More comfortable now, she wiggled into a cross-legged position in the designed-for-dwarves airline seat. “I like soccer. Reading stuff. Watching TV.”
Reading was good. TV—well, he could see battles ahead. Soccer might work.
“What about you?”
He paused, at a loss. Was he ever not at work? Recently the clinic had taken most of his hours aside from the time he’d put in to fill the freezers with meat. His tendency to spend evenings at the clinic was going to have to change, wasn’t it? “I hang out with my brothers—your uncles. We grill food. Go fishing.”
“Fishing?” The look on her face was priceless, as if she couldn’t decide whether to look enthusiastic or wrinkle her nose.
“Sí. I’ll take you a time or two, and you can see if you enjoy it.”
The wariness was back, but she nodded.
“I read, watch movies”—find a woman to enjoy—“go out to eat, work in the garden, and play music. Drums.”
“That’s a lot.”
“What did you and your mamá do together for fun?”
The silence simply broke his heart. Nothing?
Regan blinked hard. “I helped her get dressed sometimes. Before she went out at night. But…not much.”
He nodded. “Every family is different. Because we grew up in a little cabin with no electricity—no TV, right?—my brothers and I got used to doing everything together.”
“No TV. For real?”
He almost grinned at her appalled expression.
“Do you have TV now? And the internet?”
“Yes, chica. We have the internet. And a television.”
“Oh.” She slumped in obvious relief. “Okay.”
“What would you two like to drink?” The flight attendant stopped the cart.
Caz waited for Regan and was pleased with her forthright answer. “A 7-Up?” She looked at him for approval.
“Good choice. I’ll have the same, please.” He showed her how to use the tray table.
As she settled in with her drink, he considered what to do next. Because he still had questions. So many questions. Like…she’d evaded the questions about the cause of her fight in the foster home.
He frowned at the seat in front of them. Mako wasn’t a shining example of fatherhood, although he’d done his best. Heart-to-hearts hadn’t been his strength. Then again, Caz did have fair people skills. He’d spent years as a combat medic, then a nurse practitioner. And he’d learned that talking face-to-face and direct questions could inhibit conversation with nervous people, especially children.
Pulling out his phone, he started to type out a text. “I’m going to let your uncles, Gabe and Bull, know when to expect us.”
She nodded.
After that, he worked on a group text (him, Lillian, Audrey, and JJ) with Regan’s favorite colors, styles, and interests and sent it off on the plane’s Wi-Fi.
As Regan watched the flight attendants push the cart down the aisle, Caz said idly, “Back when I was your age, my brothers and I used to fight quite a bit.”
“You did?”
“Mmmhmm. Sometimes for fun, sometimes because one of us got mad. Lots of reasons.” He grinned. “So, at the foster home, what was your fight about?”
From the corner of his eye, he saw her glance at him, but he kept his attention on the cell phone.
“Um.” Her little fingers were making pleats in her shirt. “Snowball lives next door, but she comes over to visit me. Haley was picking on her. Pulling her tail and was going to burn off her whiskers. An’ she wouldn’t stop, so I hit her.”
Snowball must be a cat. “In that case, I’m glad you hit her.”
“For real?”
“Sí.” Regan’s astonished expression almost made him laugh. “I’m proud of you for protecting an animal from a bully.”
Her look of surprise, of relief, was saddening.
She stared at her hands, a crease between her brows. This child was a thinker, and one who usually thought before speaking. He remembered how he’d also learned to think first—from being backhanded by foster parents.
His daughter was so young, so small, so fragile. How the hell was he going to keep her safe?
A montage of memories swept over him. Mamá, Carmen. All his comrades in arms who’d died, bleeding out on a battlefield. Everyone he’d not protected, not been able to save. Probably every combat medic in the world felt the same.
He realized she was watching him. Still frowning.
“We’re going to do fine, Regan. You’ll like Alaska.” He ruffled her hair.
Maybe he could keep her indoors, away from everything. The inner compound was safe. She could stay there u
ntil…oh, until maybe she was fifty or so?
Smiling, JJ followed Audrey and Lillian into the Kenai Walmart. Cazador’s text about Regan’s preferences had arrived, and they had shopping to do.
JJ had met Lillian last night when the older woman—a retired English actress—had invited her, Gabe and Audrey, Bull, and Dante, the grocery-store owner over for supper.
Lillian was an excellent cook, a fantastic gardener, somehow both diplomatic and blunt. She considered Audrey “her girl”.
Envy touched JJ’s heart. Although her mother’s stroke had messed with how her brain processed things, she’d still been…Mom. JJ would always miss her. Miss the love, the support, the simple you-can-do-whatever-you-think-you-can belief.
Lillian’s support of Audrey was like that—and made JJ’s eyes sting. Audrey’d said once that her mother had been more of a tutor than a mom. Even if late, it was nice Audrey had someone now.
While everyone was at Lillian’s, Caz had called from his Sacramento hotel room to give an update on his daughter, saying that they’d be on the plane today. Friday.
Yes, he was bringing his little girl home. He’d been worried if the move would be too much for her, worried about getting her into school. JJ smiled. He’d sounded like every new father she’d ever met—even if his baby was already nine. She knew he’d be a natural.
Then he’d said his daughter’s scant amount of warm-weather clothing was in pretty sad shape, and she had nothing for Alaska temperatures. And had no other possessions.
To top it off, her bedroom in Caz’s house had no furniture.
When he said he didn’t want Regan to come home to a bare room, JJ had gotten teary-eyed. He didn’t want to love that little girl—but he was falling fast.
Yeah, she knew he would.
Today’s shopping trip had been arranged quickly. Since Gabe had appointments at the station he couldn’t postpone, Bull took charge of getting furniture. Audrey had asked Lillian to go to Kenai with her to get clothes, bedding, and whatever else, and had asked JJ to come as well. Had almost demanded that JJ join them, actually.
Lethal Balance: Sons of the Survivalist: 2 Page 10
