by Lora Leigh
She was asleep when he came to himself. Lying next to her, wrapped around her, he saw her hand, her left hand, ringless against his chest. His left hand was wrapped around her, and he could feel the missing weight of the bond that burned inside him.
He slid from her slowly, grinning as she grouched and flopped on her back, her hand on her stomach almost protective as she continued to sleep.
He strode through bedroom and bathroom first, looking for her wedding band. She had been wearing it the day before when she left with Rory. He remembered her wearing it. But she hadn’t had it on at the caves.
He walked to the kitchen and checked her purse. Organized little Sabella. There it was, tucked into a zippered compartment, the little ring shining bright as a band tightened around his head.
He moved back upstairs, picked up his pants, and pulled his wedding band free before fitting it back on his finger. The outside of the bands were plain. Just gold bands. Sabella hadn’t wanted frills for them. Inside was the Celtic vow, “forever.” Go síoraí.
Inside his were the words “Forever, my soul.” Matching vows. Matching hearts.
He lifted her hand and slid her ring back in place.
His wife.
He tangled his fingers with hers, staring at the sight of her pale, creamy flesh against his own.
His wife.
His gaze drifted to her flat stomach.
His wife and his child.
His hands were shaking as he touched her stomach. Shaking so hard the shudders worked through him, making it hard to breathe, to think.
Jesus. They made a baby!
He stared in shock at her stomach. Then in awe.
He spread his hand over her stomach and felt the tightness in his chest fill his throat, lock behind his eyes.
Then he watched in disbelief the little bead of moisture that dropped to her stomach, shimmered against it.
Tears?
He blinked and another fell.
He felt the slam of emotion. Love, regret, pure blinding God-thanked reverence filling him as he lifted his eyes to his wife’s face, to see her watching him, tears sliding down her darkened cheeks.
The bruises would fade, but this moment in time would always fill his memories.
“Go síoraí,” he whispered, the old lilt to his voice almost, almost, normal as he reaffirmed his vow to her.
“Forever, Noah,” she whispered tearfully, her hand covering his on her stomach, her breath hitching in joy. Not in pain. “Forever, my love.”
EPILOGUE
Four months later, on a blazing September day, Noah pulled his pickup into the graveled driveway of his grandpop’s cabin and stared at the vehicles gathered there with a sense of throttled fury. Grant Malone was there.
“This wasn’t our agreement,” he said coolly, glancing over at her.
The bruises were long gone, but his memory of how close he had come to losing her wasn’t. She sat beside him, her hand on the tiny mound of her stomach as she stared out the windshield thoughtfully.
She finally turned to him, and he saw the determination in her gray eyes. “It’s time, Noah. Grandpop called this meeting, Noah. There’s things he wants us to hear. And we’re going to hear them.”
“With him there?” He stabbed his finger to his father’s ranch truck. “No, Bella. No way. No how.”
He hadn’t visited his father, hadn’t made good on his threat to reach out and enter his nightmares, and he would be damned if he would hold a civilized conversation with him now. He’d asked one thing of him. Protect Sabella. His wife had spent six years with only Rory standing between her and the world. And her own stubborn strength. He wouldn’t forget that.
It was all he could do to bite back his curse. He couldn’t curse in front of the baby when it came so he might as well start practicing now. Right?
Something softened inside of him as he looked down at her stomach again. She was barely showing, but their baby was there. His guts shook at the thought again and everything inside him seemed to explode in a riot of sensation. Even now. Four months later.
He blew out a hard breath and stared back at the vehicles. Rory was there, and Jordan, Grandpop, and Grant. Grant, not Father, and sure as damned hell not Dad.
“This wasn’t part of the marriage rules,” he gritted out, thinking about the page-long list they had fucking negotiated before she would marry him.
Negotiated, like a damned lawyer squabbling over pennies. She’d made him so fucking hot he’d had her right there on the kitchen table. Hell, he was hard again just thinking about it.
“Yes it was,” she answered calmly.
“Where?” He turned on her, his hands clenching on the steering wheel, no longer afraid she would run away crying if he raised his voice a little bit. “Where the hell was it?”
“The part that stated Sabella was always right.”
He snapped his teeth together and turned back. Fuck. He’d forgot about that one. The last one. He was going to negotiate the hell out of it at the time, but he’d been too busy trying to get under that silky skirt she was wearing.
“You cheat.” He turned on her, nose to nose now. “We renegotiate.”
“Too late, you signed it and you sealed it with marriage vows. You’re stuck, Mr. Noah Blake.” Her lips curled in satisfaction, but her eyes were dark, her expression assuring him she was very well aware of how difficult it would be to face his father now.
She laid her hand on his arm. “Grandpop is old, Noah. Whatever’s waiting on us in there means a lot to him. Give it a chance. Maybe you’ll have some answers instead of the questions I know burn inside you.”
Why had he deserted Sabella? Not why hadn’t he been a fucking father to him. Why had he cheated on his mother? Why hadn’t he claimed Rory and given him a home? God, why had he turned his back on Grandpop and stolen everything the old man tried to work for?
So many questions that he had actually put behind him the day he faced Grant Malone in the convenience center four months before.
“Fine.” He gave his head a hard shake. “It won’t change anything.”
“All I ask is that you hear Grandpop out. Not Grant,” she promised him. “I love you, Noah. Some things, we need closure on. If not for us, then for our child.”
Closure. He blew out a hard breath before he got out of the truck and strode around to the other side. He lifted Sabella from the high cab, setting her easily on her feet as she leaned her head against his chest for just a second.
“You owe me for this,” he muttered. “That’s definitely one of the rules. If I have to give in to Sabella knows best, then Sabella gives me head. Period.”
“I always give you head,” she said, laughing.
“Yeah, but I want special head.”
“There’s a special way to do it?” Her eyes lit up.
He loved that about her. She was always ready to play or get down and dirty.
“We’ll discuss it,” he grunted. He’d tease her until she begged to suck his cock. That was special to him.
He kept his hand at her back as they moved to the rough boards of the porch. He loved touching her. He touched her every chance he had, because he could, because she was his.
Jordan had made it easy on him. And whoever the hell backed the Elite Ops seemingly hadn’t even blinked at the situation. Noah was on backup on the few missions they had gone out on in recent months. They were still waiting for information to see where the fallout on the militia had gone. But even then, Noah would pull back. The name Malone might be dead to him, but he was a husband, a father, and he wasn’t risking that again. Not like he had before. Another of Sabella’s rules.
His job wasn’t low risk, but it was lower than it could have been. And maybe he should have read the whole Elite Ops contract. There was no resignation, there was no opting out, but there was a stated waiver once the operative reached what they considered noncombatant age or was deemed unable to effectively complete or conduct missions. They were then moved to
backup or technical ops.
Elite Ops would always own whatever job he did, but they didn’t own his soul. Sabella owned his soul.
Grandpop was waiting. The door opened and they stepped into the small living room. Grant was sitting on the couch. Jordan and Rory in chairs that faced it. There were two more chairs to the side that Noah knew had been pulled from the bedrooms.
Grant sat with his head down, his hands clasped between his knees. Jordan’s expression was somber, Rory’s eyes gleamed with fury.
“What’s up, Grandpop?” Sabella asked, kissing the old man’s cheek as Noah moved in behind her.
Grandpop held Noah’s gaze. Noah had gone to him the day after he returned to his wife. They’d held each other as Grandpop cried, slapped his shoulder, and then they had walked to the grave and Noah had seen the truth there.
The gravestone had simply said “Nathan.” Nothing more. Grandpop had never believed he was dead.
“Grant has something to tell his son.”
Noah’s gaze moved to Rory.
Grant lifted his head as Noah glanced at him, and a shock of disbelief filled him. Tears filled Grant’s eyes, and knowledge. He knew. The same expression Grant had had the day Noah had held him pinned to the cooler in the convenience store. Grant Malone had known who he was.
“Who told?” he growled.
“I knew,” Grant whispered. “I knew the minute I saw you.” He shook his head and a tear slipped free. “I knew when Dad didn’t have your stone engraved. I knew when I heard Sabella had a lover.” He shook his head. “I knew.”
“Doesn’t change anything.” He held Sabella to him, trying to harden himself. Trying to tell him it didn’t matter.
Grant shook his head. “It has to matter.” He looked at Sabella’s small abdomen and another tear slipped. “It has to matter, Noah.”
He lifted his eyes back to Noah. “Thirty-five years ago, I married a woman I didn’t love. She married me for the money I could bring to the ranch. You know that. I married her because I wanted to build a legacy for the sons I intended to have. I got the ranch, but by the time my first son came, I knew the danger we all faced.”
Nathan knew about the loveless marriage. Before Tammy Malone’s death, she hadn’t exactly been silent about the fact that she only married an “Irish cur,” as she called him, to save the ranch her father was losing.
“We had you,” Grant whispered. “The militia started targeting me then, Noah. I was Irish. They didn’t want me here, but they couldn’t kill me either. Killing me would break the agreement I had with Tammy’s father. And he was one of them. But they could hurt you. Dad.” He looked at Rory. “My other son.”
Noah stilled.
“I made sure they knew I didn’t have anything that they could destroy me with.” He swallowed tightly. “Dad knew.” He nodded to Grandpop. “We both made sure you and Rory, and Belle, were protected. You know he did, Noah.”
“You took everything he had!” Noah snarled. “Don’t lie to me now.”
“No.” Grant shook his graying head. “We made it look that way. We let everyone believe that.” He swallowed tightly. “Rory’s mother died because they thought, rightfully, that she mattered to me. I had to pretend she didn’t.” He shook his head. “Even your mother didn’t know because she was best friends with some of their wives and I couldn’t risk my son. Neither of my sons.” He swallowed tightly. “I let them think I didn’t care. I let them think there was no way to hurt me, and I skated by. I stayed quiet. I ran my ranch and looked for ways to hurt them that wouldn’t come back on me.” He rubbed at his face with his hands. “I sent pictures of the hunts to the FBI. And those agents died. Finally, I went to Jordan.”
Noah turned to his uncle. Jordan nodded slowly. “This is why we brought together a team no one could tie to an agency. We had more than four dead agents. There have been six total. Every time we sent someone they were identified. We couldn’t figure out how. Until Sienna.”
Because she had hacked her husband’s computer files. Because she knew how to watch, how to listen, and how to deceive.
“Between her and the federal marshal and judge, no agency could get anyone in close enough for proof.”
“That was eight years ago. You were engaged to Belle,” Grant whispered. “I did my best, Noah, to protect her. Grandpop would make the mortgage payments when we had to do something. He would let his buddies know I was being a bastard that refused to help. It nearly broke him.”
“You should have sold out when I wanted you to,” Grandpop argued.
“We would have lost everything, Pop, you know that. Everything I tried to build for my boys. For my grandchildren. Everything we saved all those years would have gone down the drain.”
“Poor and happy ain’t that bad, boy.”
It was obviously an argument they had had often.
Grant could only shake his head as Noah let himself ease into a chair, pulling Sabella to his lap. He couldn’t let go of her. A lifetime of what he thought he knew was exploding in front of his face.
He hadn’t known his wife. He hadn’t seen what was evolving in the town and with his father. His vision had been so narrow, his focus on the SEALs, his career, on loving Sabella, and little else.
His “death” had shown him how little he had lived, how little he had known.
“You didn’t tell me,” he whispered.
“You were one of the things I was trying to protect,” Grant bit out. “For that.” He pointed to Sabella’s stomach. “Your future. Your wife and your children. Nothing else mattered to me, Noah. I loved you, and I loved Rory, and I did my best. Not good enough, I admit, but my best. And I prayed Dad could do the rest.”
And Grandpop had.
Noah shook his head.
“I’m not asking for forgiveness, or for acceptance,” Grant whispered. “But I want to know that baby, Noah. I want to be called Grandpop. I haven’t been called Dad since you were a boy, and I’ve lived with that. But I want to be a grandfather, just as bad as I wanted to be your father.”
Silence filled the room then. Grandpop stood behind him, his hand settling on Noah’s shoulder.
“The world is never what we think it is, Noah.” He repeated the words Noah had heard so many times. “There are layers, son. And layers. This is just another.”
“But it’s always love,” Sabella whispered and pressed her hand against his where it rested over their child.
“Nathan Malone doesn’t exist anymore,” he told his father, thinking of him as a father, despite the practiced determination not to.
“But Noah Blake does,” Grant stated. “And Sabella Blake is a gentle, compassionate woman. Everyone knows that. If Grant Malone needs to pretend, hell.” He shook his head. “Everyone knows he’s damned strange anyway. And I’ve been inconsistent enough over the years that it won’t be remarked on too much. I’m getting old. Rory is close to Noah Blake and his wife. No one will question it.”
And that was the truth.
Noah’s lips kicked up at the corners.
“Rules,” he murmured, and Sabella gave a rude little amused sniff.
“There’s always rules.” Grant nodded.
Noah frowned as everyone watched him expectantly.
“Noah,” Sabella’s voice was warning, knowing.
Noah cleared his throat. “I’m always right.”
Grant frowned in confusion. Sabella shook. He had a feeling it was silent laughter.
“Noah is always right,” he stated. “That’s the rule.”
“Right about what?” Grant’s frown deepened.
“Whatever I want to be right about, dammit,” he growled. “Hell. Noah Blake doesn’t have a damned father. He’s an orphan.” Grant winced, paled before he could continue. “But if Nathan Malone’s father needs a surrogate son.” He shrugged. “I married his wife. I drive his truck. Hell, I guess I can claim his dad.”
At that moment, feathery soft, he felt it. His gaze jerked down to where Sabella he
ld his hand to her stomach, then to her eyes.
He felt it.
She smiled. Her eyes filled with love, with the future. With forever.
Their baby had moved. Right there, against his hand, as though in agreement. So soft he hadn’t been certain, not really sure until he looked in her eyes.
“Forever,” he whispered.
And her eyes shimmered with tears. “Forever.”
When he turned back to his father, he thought, maybe, just maybe, there were a few less flecks of green in his eyes. A bit more of the sapphire Irish eyes that were his legacy. He thought, maybe, he could get to know the father he had never known.
He held his hand out to his father, watched the other man blink back his tears, and they shook on the rule, and the future.
Finally, a future. Six years late. A lot of stubborn pride and too damned much time lost. Noah Blake wasn’t a stupid man. He wasn’t losing more time. He wasn’t losing more love. Noah Blake would snatch back everything Nathan Malone had lost and give it everything he had.
The future.
MAVERICK
Lora Leigh
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
MAVERICK
Copyright © 2009 by Lora Leigh.
All rights reserved.
For information address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.
ISBN: 978-1-42999187-2
St. Martin’s Paperbacks are published by St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.
eISBN 9781429991872
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder…
AUTHOR’S NOTE
IT’S NOT ALWAYS easy to write a hero such as Micah Sloane. He implants himself in your head, and he refuses to change. From the beginning, Micah was Jewish. He was Mossad. He was a man who saw death in far different ways than I did. A man who knew how to kill without guilt when killing was necessary. He made no excuses for who he was, for what he was. And he didn’t need to make excuses.
I knew next to nothing about the Jewish faith or culture, so I had some studying to do. Many of the things I learned gave me a new respect for both the culture and the religion. But it also gave me new insights into my hero. I hope you see in him all the things I saw. A man as enduring, as strong, and as powerful as the land he came from. A man who knew love, honored love, and a man who understood love. Any mistakes I made in his character are mine alone.
