“You’re right, it should and it does. Because while you were gone, I got a look at our future, and you weren’t even a part of it. I can’t see either of us changing to fit the other, can you?”
“I thought we were a pretty good fit already.”
“That’s because you don’t even know how much I’ve changed already. A year’s a long time to wait for somebody who couldn’t be bothered to pick up a phone.”
“It wasn’t like—”
“What was it like? Don’t tell me you’ve been deep cover, incommunicado for the past twelve months. I might even want to believe you, but you can’t play that card with me…I’d know it’s a lie.”
“I never meant to hurt you, Han.”
“You did. I’m over it. I’m not bitter, Mike. I’m disappointed. I thought we had something, something that doesn’t have anything to do with jealousy. But I was wrong, we’re the proverbial two ships passing in the night.”
The waiter arrived to take their orders. “Ah…chicken Caesar salad, dressing on the side, and an iced tea, lemon on the side. Thank you,” she said, snapping the menu shut.
“Burger, rare.” McCaffrey placed his order. He sat back. His gaze fixed on her until she felt like raw meat.
“This is dutch,” she clarified.
“Isn’t it always?”
“I was just making sure you knew—”
“That some things haven’t changed. Like me for example? And the fact that you’re still stubborn when it comes to letting a man pick up the check. Not everything has changed, Han.”
That was part of the problem, too. Though she didn’t want to look for that common ground. Unable to hold up under his intense scrutiny, she spread her napkin across her lap before meeting his eyes again. “Why don’t I pick up the tab?” Which just about summed up their relationship.
“That supposed to bother me?”
“Not if you’re secure in your masculinity.”
“You can try on the pants all you want, sweetheart. But it doesn’t change a thing when they come off.”
“Like that’s ever going to happen.”
“It happened.”
“I meant again,” she corrected, angry that he’d called her on it. The waiter returned and set their glasses in front of them. She held her peace until he left them alone. “You know,” she said, ripping open two packets of sweetener. “I would enjoy this meal a lot more if we didn’t even attempt a conversation.”
“We’re going to have to attempt a whole hell of a lot more than conversation. Bell switched Teams Eleven and One in the training rotation. We’re going to be spending the next two weeks together in Fallon, Nevada.”
She paused with the packets over her iced tea. “You can’t be serious?”
“Apparently not.”
Tears pricked the back of her eyes. Maybe bitterness was all she had left. “You know, I’m not very hungry after all. You can pick up the tab on this one.” She threw her napkin down and left.
MIKE’S APPETITE disappeared with Hannah. The best mistake of her life? How about the biggest mistake of his! He’d stopped to catch his breath when he should have kept right on running.
He tossed his own napkin to the table and was about to push to his feet when he spotted Petrone headed his way.
“Great,” he mumbled under his breath, but kept his seat and pasted on a smile. When he’d shown up at Hannah’s door this morning, he hadn’t expected to find Petrone there. He didn’t need a visual of other men in her life.
“There you are.” Peter greeted him like a long-lost friend. “Sorry I took so long. Where’s Hannah?”
“She had to leave.”
“Oh.” Peter sounded disappointed.
“How do you feel about chicken Caesar salad?” Mike asked as the waiter approached with two lunches.
Petrone brightened immediately. “I’m sure Hannah had her reasons for leaving.”
Mike bit into his burger, knowing full well he was the sole reason. Petrone continued his ode to Hannah. By the time Mike had taken his second bite, Pete had dropped her name six more times. This was going to be a very long lunch.
“I want to thank you for showing me around this morning, I know you’re a busy man. That was a nice gesture.”
“You’re welcome, Pete.”
“The truth is I’ve been wanting to meet you. Now I know why Hannah speaks so highly of you.”
Now there was a kick-to-the-gut compliment.
“I hope I’ve made a favorable impression on you, as well,” Petrone continued. “You know, considering… I mean I wouldn’t want to get in the middle of anything—”
“No, I don’t know. Why don’t you jump right in and tell me?”
“My intentions are honorable, I assure you.” He dug into his coat pocket and pulled out a velvet box that he snapped open. Mike didn’t know much about diamonds, but this one was big and sparkly. The kind most women wanted.
It didn’t suit Hannah at all. But maybe she was right, he didn’t know her anymore. And that made him the guy without a clue.
“I’m afraid you’re not my type, Pete, ol’ pal.”
“Oh—” Petrone looked confused, then released a nervous laugh “—you’re making a joke. You are making a joke, right? Tonight at dinner I’m going to ask Hannah to marry me. I know I don’t have to ask, but considering…you know, you two…I was kind of hoping for your blessing.”
“My blessing?”
“I’m looking forward to being a husband…and a father, you don’t have to worry about that.” Peter continued his litany of good qualities. “I’ll be there for her. I’ll provide for her…”
In summary, Pete could give Hannah everything Mike couldn’t. Even Hannah’s mother must approve of this guy. Not to mention this guy’s bank account. Keeping the smile plastered on his face was the hardest thing Mike had ever done. And he’d done some pretty hard things in his life.
Tomorrow wasn’t in his vocabulary; neither were words like future and forever. He lived in the here and now. And Hannah was here, now. As selfish as it sounded, he didn’t want to just give up on that. He might be the wrong long-term guy, but he was in the top ten of short-term flings—okay, number one.
“What do you think?” Peter paused long enough to ask.
Mike sat back in his chair. He thought long and hard, but not too long or too hard, because he knew what he wanted had nothing to do with what Hannah needed. The guy obviously cared about Hannah. He wanted to take care of her and that was a plus, because whether Hannah knew it or not, she really needed to be taken care of. She deserved a guy who’d be there for her and could give her babies and a white picket fence.
Ah, hell, now he was thinking too long and too hard.
“I think you should ask her.”
“If you don’t mind—” Peter leaned forward “—I have a favor to ask of you…”
HANNAH WOKE at 0400 to Fallon’s cries. Despite the hour and her lack of sleep, she looked forward to this time alone with her daughter. It would be their last four-a.m. feeding for at least two weeks. Stifling a yawn, she rolled off the air mattress and onto the floor, literally.
“Is Mama’s girl hungry?” She reached into the crib and picked up her daughter from the tear-soaked spot. How long had the baby been crying?
“Hannah?” Sammy stirred across the hall.
A while.
“I’ve got her.” Apparently the hours Hannah had put into the move, the old and the new jobs, the transition from civilian to military life and rejecting men were exhausting.
“There, there, baby girl. Mama’s here,” she whispered, patting Fallon on the back as she moved her to a dry spot. The movers weren’t due to arrive for another week. Until then they were making do with the Portacrib and air mattresses and the few pieces they’d brought with them or had bought since their arrival.
By the time she’d changed the baby’s diaper and put her in a dry onesie, soft baby words no longer satisfied Fallon. She was hungry and screami
ng for her bottle. This had been so much easier when she’d been breast-feeding.
She held Fallon close and found herself humming “Cruisin’,” which hadn’t left her head since Spence had played it for her this morning. Hannah stepped into her slippers and padded down the stairs. Flipping on the kitchen light, she shuffled to the refrigerator.
“I’ll put on some tea,” her sister said.
“That would be wonderful,” their mother agreed.
“I’m sorry.” Hannah grabbed a premade bottle and closed the refrigerator door with her hip. “I’m up now. You two can go back to bed—”
“We want to hear all about your big date.” Sammy ran water into the teakettle, while Hannah moved to the microwave.
Peter had gotten down on bended knee in the middle of the Prince of Wales Room. She’d been embarrassed by the whole thing, but she’d felt even worse for him.
“Show me the ring,” her mother demanded. “I want to see what it looks like on your finger.”
“You knew about this and didn’t warn me?” Why did men and mothers think a ring was the answer to everything?
“She helped pick it out. All six carats. We didn’t think you’d want anything bigger.”
“You, too?” Obviously they didn’t know her well enough.
Sammy shrugged as she put the kettle on the stovetop.
“I hate to disappoint you, Mother—” Hannah sat down at the table, adjusting the baby in her arms “—but the only carrots I’ll be wearing are the ones Fallon spits up on me.”
“Why would I be disappointed?” Her mother scoffed at the suggestion. “I merely offered my assistance to a man who’s so in love with my daughter he can’t see straight, let alone think straight.”
“It’s not love, Mother, it’s need. And the last thing I need right now is a needy man.”
“What about Mac? He’s not needy,” Sammy chimed in.
“Okay, the second-to-last thing I need right now is a needy man. The very last thing I need is a…”
“Man who’ll break your heart,” her mother added, not unkindly. “I agree. And there are worse things than going into a marriage with your eyes open. You don’t love Peter and he needs you. So what? The man should always be a little more in love with the woman. It evens the odds.”
“I’ve read that,” Sammy said, getting down the tea bags from the cupboard. “I think it was in a magazine, or maybe on the Internet.”
Fallon had stopped crying to greedily suck on her bottle. Hannah held back enough hormone-generated tears to flood the kitchen.
She couldn’t wear a ring in the cockpit.
Not that she wanted a ring, dammit.
She’d been about to say, a man who not only didn’t want them but couldn’t offer her daughter a safe and secure future even if he did. But wasn’t that what Peter had offered? So why had her gaze drifted over his shoulder to the BUD/S on the beach as they attempted their rock portage landing. The wannabe SEALs’ struggles had held her attention longer than a man proposing marriage.
She knew she was strong enough to go it alone, but was she being fair to her daughter? Peter had taken the red-eye back to Denver, but he’d left the offer on the table.
Should she reconsider for Fallon’s sake?
NAVAL AIR STATION NORTH ISLAND
Coronado, California
“MORNING,” MIKE SAID over his shoulder. Arms folded, he checked his watch, 0700. Right on time. He’d give her credit for that and the silent approach, or was it the silent treatment? Either way, he’d smelled her perfume from a quarter mile out. Nothing subtle or sweet about a scent as bold and in-your-face as the woman who wore it.
A storm in the desert.
Hot. Heavy. Fragrant with the beauty of a cactus rose.
“Norton’s pissed,” she said.
And just as thorny.
She stopped shoulder to shoulder with him. Half-a-dozen C-130 transports were on deck, bellies open and waiting. Forklifts moved between stacked pallets outside the hangars and the planes. Team One had been only too happy to forgo training exercises in Nevada for a real-world op in the Gulf. But they’d stripped equipment already packed, leaving Eleven scrounging and grumbling in their wake.
“With you or me?” He didn’t need to ask what Norton was pissed about. Mike had sent his men over to HCS-5 for a little prowl and growl. Mission objective: loot a certain case of ouzo. And to make sure Norton thought twice about ever accepting that kind of bribe again, they’d left one bottle with Mike’s calling card.
“You.”
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Good.”
Keeping that symbiotic relationship between SEALs and Seahawk pilots healthy called for a dose of mischief every once in a while. He’d get back at Hannah for the late bird, as well, but right now he couldn’t even stand next to her, without torturing himself with the thought of that big rock on her finger.
She wasn’t wearing it. He’d checked.
But that didn’t mean Petrone hadn’t asked. Or that Hannah hadn’t accepted.
She wouldn’t wear it at work.
“Not good,” she said. “HCS-5 is leaving for the Gulf this morning. Norton’s paranoid because your SEALs had free rein around his Seahawks last night. He’s quadruple checking everything and holding up our production—”
“You want me to give him a call?”
“No.” She checked her watch. “He’ll be wheels up in a few. I just wanted to let you know we’ve been stuck with a C-5 that has a hydraulic leak. It’s going to take some time to get it fixed. But I don’t want to hold you up.”
“Not a problem.”
“It’s not necessary. We’ll see you in Fallon.” She started to walk away.
“Time hack,” he called her back, before she could disappear. She’d been standing beside him for the past five minutes, keeping a professional distance in everything she said or did. He wanted to break through that. At the very least he wanted her to look at him so he could decide whether those purple smudges underneath her eyes were there because she’d spent the night making love to another man. And the only thing he could think of to get her attention was his watch.
“You call it,” she said, fingering the setting on her watch so they could synchronize their time.
Why hadn’t he noticed before that it was new? Similar to the one she’d had in Nevada, but new. What was the significance of that?
“Are you going to call it?” she asked.
He stepped in closer, until they were touching. Just a brush of fire-retardant Nomex. But he could feel her heat beneath the flight suit. “0707,” he said. “Five, four, three, two, one. Hack.” He raised his head. She raised hers. Unhooking her sunglasses from her breast pocket, she put them on. But not before he caught a peek.
She looked tired. Sad.
Did the idea of leaving Petrone cause her that much misery? Or had she caught on to Petrone’s game? He hoped it was the latter. But anything out of his own mouth right now would sound like jealous ramblings.
She hitched a ride with the ground crew, leaving only her scent behind. Women were considered non-combatants, but even he could admit the lines were a little hazy these days and had been since the first Gulf War. Obviously Petrone had never seen Hannah in her element.
Because if he had, he never would have tried to use her as a bargaining chip.
A favor.
Hall-Petrone wanted Lieutenant Commander Stanton as their Navy liaison on the fuel-cell project. If Mike could deliver Hannah, by convincing the admiral, who had already said no—to let her go, Petrone would deliver the fuel cell.
Mike wanted his hands on that fuel cell almost as much as he wanted his hands on Hannah’s body. But he respected her too much to touch either. It was her call.
It had always been her call.
“Here,” the Senior Chief shoved a clipboard at him, “sign this. The last of the pallets are being loaded now.”
Mike scrawled his name to the manifest. “Make sure we
have plenty of batteries.”
“Will do.”
“Tell the men to board. And make sure my Jeep gets onto one of those planes.”
With a heavy sigh, Itch shook his head. “Rumor has it the motor pool in Fallon, Nevada, has new Jeeps, some only ten or fifteen years old. Brand spanking new Hummers, too. I bet they’d even let a commander sign for one.”
“Now why would I do that when I can bring my own ride along?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because you’ve been driving around in that same piece of shit since high school.”
“Call me sentimental. I keep you around, don’t I?”
“I don’t recall you having a choice.” Though not related by blood, Garret “Itch” Erickson was as close to Mike as any brother. Back in high school Garret had been living out of his car, a car he’d sold off years ago, when Mike’s folks had taken him into their foster care. “How are the folks?”
“Should have seen that one coming. I’ll call ’em from Fallon,” he promised. He’d put off that phone call home too long.
“Did you get the e-mail from Meg, about the anniversary cruise? She wants to book by the end of the month so she can get a good deal. Said she needs the money by then.”
“I got it,” Mike admitted. “She’s being a bit extravagant after last year’s bash for their thirty-fifth.”
Maureen’s husband still wasn’t back to driving long haul after his back surgery. Financially, Mary Margaret and her husband were no better off with the new baby, their fourth. And Marla and her husband had been downsized right out of Silicon Valley.
“You know Jenny and I will pitch in,” Itch volunteered, despite the fact an enlisted man made much less than an officer.
Mike didn’t mind paying the lion’s share, but he knew it put his sisters and their husbands, even Garret in a bind. And who’d take care of Buddy if his folks went off on a second honeymoon? “I just wish Meg would think before she acts.”
“Never gonna happen.” Itch slapped him on the back, then headed out to issue Mike’s orders. “Let’s do it!” Itch shouted to the men.
The Seal’s Baby Page 7
