The Seal’s Baby

by Rogenna Brewer

  Dawn gave a red-sky warning, highlighting the admiral’s words. Whatever’s between the two of you, get it worked out. You have two weeks. A little hard to do when the whatever was an ache deep in his gut for another man’s fiancée.

  Do the right thing, Mac.

  Mike pushed his sunglasses in place and headed to the last in line of the four-prop C-130 transports.

  Doing the right thing might mean stepping aside.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  NAVAL AIR STATION FALLON

  Fallon, Nevada

  “A WORD, COMMANDER.” Hannah chose her approach as carefully as if she were landing her Sikorsky HH-60H Seahawk on the rolling and pitching deck of an aircraft carrier.

  Flight deck. No cover. No salutes.

  No nonsense.

  For a moment she thought he didn’t hear her above the whirling blades of the second gunship. But when the fully locked and loaded Navy SEAL detached from his squad and executed an about-face it wasn’t the landlocked tarmac in the middle of the Nevada desert that lurched.

  Hannah stopped short. The thump-thump-thump resonating in her ears could have been the whip of the helicopter’s blades or the beat of her own heart. Clutching the crash helmet digging into her hip, she stood her ground, waiting for him to come to her.

  He closed the distance with measured strides—a twenty-first-century cowboy headed for a showdown.

  “Shoot, Hannah.”

  Leave it to McCaffrey to be so damn amicable when she wanted nothing more than to shoot him. Too bad her sidearm was loaded with blanks for this training exercise. She would have been satisfied with a flesh wound.

  He stopped well out of range of her personal space, crossing well-toned arms to keep her out of his. Over his shoulder, flight crews from the eight gunships of Helicopter Combat Support (Special) Squadron Nine headed back to the hangar not far behind SEAL Team Eleven. Ground crews hovered in the background, sparing them the occasional glance—about as much privacy as they were going to get in full view of their crews.

  Brushing wind whipped hair out of her eyes, Hannah tilted her chin. “Do you have a problem with my flying, Commander?”

  “Han, we’ve been over this.” He removed his sunglasses, hanging them on his breast pocket. Like the desert-print battle-dress uniform he wore, his hazel eyes provided camouflage, disguising his thoughts as he squinted against the glaring sun to study her face. “Don’t take it personally.”

  “How do you expect me to take it? Your men refuse to get in my gunship.”

  “Parish is regular, you’re reserve. We’ve established a level of comfort and familiarity with the pilots who actually fly us into combat.” His guarded eyes softened as he shifted focus to her mouth, but that softness disappeared an instant later.

  Regret?

  Damn, it was hot.

  Ripping at the Velcro closure of her flight suit, she cleared her throat. “There are eight gunships in this squadron. In the past five days you’ve flown in seven of them. The majority of those pilots are also reservists. Helicopter Combat Support would not exist without reservists.” She knew it. And he knew it. “I’d like to know why I’m the odd man out. Or is man the operative word here?”

  “It’s not because you’re a wom—”

  She cut him off with a shake of her head. “Keep paying lip service to Navy policy, Commander, then maybe one of us will believe it. I need to maintain combat readiness.”

  “Hannah, I hope to hell you never see combat.” He said it with the authority of a man who’d spent at least part of the past year in a hot zone. He combed a hand through his hair and looked to be about as tired of this conversation as she felt.

  “I’m not going to let this go,” she warned.

  Deal with it. Deal with me.

  He scratched at the grit-and-sweat-encrusted five-o’clock shadow that dared to make an early appearance at 1500 hours. His face paint had faded except for a few mud-colored streaks near his hairline.

  Even covered in grime, he looked good.

  “What do you want me to say?”

  She wanted him to admit this wasn’t a reserve or gender war; it was something much more personal.

  “I want you to say you’ll get in my gunship. That’s all.”

  “Okay, Han, tomorrow, I promise I’ll get in your gunship.”

  “Don’t patronize me, McCaffrey, tomorrow is Sunday. And I don’t know about you, but I’m taking a well-deserved day off. I’m talking about today…this entire past week. You’re avoiding me and your men are following your lead.”

  “I thought we were avoiding each other.” His gaze was neither soft nor camouflaged as he forced her to take a hard look at herself. She had been avoiding him. Since she’d walked out on him at lunch, she hadn’t said one word to him that didn’t have to do with work.

  “That’s personal. This is professional.”

  “I see,” he said through tight lips.

  “You’re a SEAL, McCaffrey. You know how to compartmentalize the two.”

  “You’re right, Han, I do. I guess what surprises the hell out of me is that you’re so damn good at it.”

  But she wasn’t. Wasn’t that the problem? She couldn’t separate the personal from the professional. Mike McCaffrey and Commander McCaffrey, Navy SEAL, were one and the same. She just wished she’d realized it sooner.

  “You know what? I don’t care what it is. I’m CO of this squadron, not Parish. Your guys want a ride next time out, they get in my gunship or else…”

  “Or else what?”

  She supposed he could have laughed in her face, a lite commander threatening a full commander, but at this point she was too fed up to care.

  “Or else.” She brushed past him, knocking into his shoulder on purpose. “That’s not a threat, McCaffrey, that’s a promise.”

  Mike turned to watch Hannah walk away. That little knock had been their first physical contact in five days, but he was more than willing to open the door she seemed determined to slam in his face.

  Aware of aviation ground crews all around them, he spoke through the Motorola transmitter they used to communicate during ground exercises. “What happened to the ring?”

  That brought her up short, though she’d didn’t face him.

  He knew she wouldn’t wear it in the cockpit, but he hadn’t seen her wearing it at all since they’d arrived in Fallon. The lingering question had bothered him for days. And just as many sleepless nights.

  “It wasn’t your ring, McCaffrey. I don’t see how it concerns you.”

  “You don’t remember me? Let me refresh your memory. I’m the guy who made you come, not once, not twice, but so many times there weren’t enough Trojans lined up to get the job done.” The moment he realized he was speaking from the ache in his gut, he knew he’d live to regret his words.

  “That’s right, McCaffrey, there’s no other man that can measure up to you!” She ripped out her earpiece and glared at him over her shoulder. For a split second before she stormed off, he thought he saw her heart in her eyes. Impossible.

  Hannah didn’t have a heart. She’d proved that by stomping all over his—in size-eight combat boots. But only after he’d been careless with hers. When had they gone from being on the same side to opposing forces? “Suck it up, Mac,” he mumbled to himself. “It wasn’t personal, it was just sex.”

  When it came right down to it, all they had was that one night in a hotel room. And he’d sure made a mess out of that.

  “Hannah sure has changed.” Russell Parish gnawed on a toothpick. He’d shut down his gunship and had come up beside Mike on the tarmac.

  “She can still fly circles around any pilot in your squadron. Your time-on-targets need work, Rusty. My men need pilots they can count on.”

  He favored Parish and some of the other less experienced pilots because they provided more worst-case scenario practice. When Hannah returned to civilian life, Rusty Parish would be the man to take over. He should have mentioned that to Hannah.


  She couldn’t read his mind.

  Mike shook his head, then headed toward the squadron ready room for debriefing. There was a time when he thought she could.

  DOUGLAS HOUSE BACHELOR OFFICERS’

  QUARTERS

  Fallon, Nevada

  HANNAH SLUMPED against the door of her room. Mercifully, the debriefing hadn’t lasted long. She couldn’t do this, not for two weeks, two days, or even two more minutes. The man was insufferable.

  Shrugging off the shoulders of her unzipped flight suit, she tied the sleeves around her waist, then she pushed redial on her cell phone and crossed the room to the kitchenette, grabbing a can of something cold out of the refrigerator.

  “Hello?” Her sister picked up on the third ring.

  “Sammy, it’s Han. Did I catch you at a bad time?”

  “Hannah, no, the movers just left. We’re unpacking. You know Mom, she wanted everything in its proper place right away.”

  “I told her to leave it. I’ll be back in a week. I can unpack then.” Hannah paced her small space, feeling helpless. “I feel bad enough making you relocate cross country.”

  “I’m happy to do it for you and for Fallon. You really didn’t expect Mom to leave things alone, did you? Oh, and I should warn you, she’s staying.”

  “What?”

  “She’s been seeing Captain Loring, though I don’t think he’s the reason she’s decided to stay. Here, I’ll let you two duke it out.” The phone exchanged hands, and Hannah put on her boxing gloves. Seeing as in dating? Her mother hadn’t dated in…her mother had never dated.

  “Hannah?”

  “Mom, what are you doing? Stop unpacking!”

  “Life does not stand still while you’re away doing drills or whatever it is you do. Honestly, Hannah, you can’t expect us to live like gypsies just because you do.”

  That was a low blow.

  “It’s not like I have a choice, Mother.”

  “Of course you do. You’ve chosen the glamorous life over family.”

  “Glamorous?” While her suite at the BOQ was nice, it wasn’t exactly Club Med. And she wouldn’t call sweating her ass off under the hot desert sun much fun, either. Of course, her mother would never say anything as crass as ass or sweat. A lady never sweated, she perspired. And her mother never even did that. “Try duty, Mother. Maybe you can get the good captain to fill you in on that. Oh!” Hannah exhaled her frustration in one big sigh. “I am so not going to get into this with you. Go home, Mother. Sammy doesn’t need a mother hen hanging around. And I don’t need you to manage my life.”

  “You may not need me, Hannah Catherine, but your sister does. She doesn’t know the first thing about taking care of a baby—for that matter, neither do you. So I’m here for as long as my granddaughter needs me.”

  So now her mother had gone from being mopey to feisty?

  “Please put Sammy back on the phone.”

  Hannah knew just as much as any other first-time mother. She’d read the books. She had friends with babies. But more importantly, she loved and missed her daughter. She just couldn’t be there. Even though she really wanted to be.

  The few minutes Sammy spent reassuring her that the baby was fine didn’t make Hannah feel any less restless. When Hannah finally hung up, she felt more frustrated and guilt ridden than ever.

  BASE COMMISSARY

  Fallon, Nevada

  HANNAH HAD TO BREAK OUT of the sweltering confines of her room, so she headed to the Navy commissary, where the air-conditioning was actually working. She didn’t even bother to change out of her flight suit.

  Being Saturday, the store was crowded with service members in uniform and civilian clothes, retirees and their spouses, and military wives pushing cartloads of groceries and children. The one-way aisles gave the commissary a military efficiency unlike any civilian grocery store. And she was able to skip through until she hit the meat department. Low prices were a benefit and a curse.

  She was waiting for the butcher to restock the porterhouse steaks when she realized someone had dropped a couple of T-bones in her cart by mistake. She looked around expecting to find a stranger searching for his missing meat. Instead she found McCaffrey dumping produce into her cart. Prepackaged salad. Potatoes. “What are you doing?”

  “Shadowing you.”

  “Some might call that stalking.”

  He’d showered and changed into blue jeans and a denim shirt since their debriefing. Not one to waste a minute, his hair was still damp. “I’m trying to apologize. I tried to get your attention after debriefing, and again in the parking lot. I suppose you didn’t hear me call your name.”

  “No, sorry, I didn’t.” They both knew she was lying. “Unless you were that guy in the beat-up orange Jeep trying to run me down.”

  “I missed you by a mile.”

  They’d moved on from the meat department, with McCaffrey steering the cart. She noticed that he’d shaved. Although she knew he used unscented products, he still had a fresh, clean scent about him, a combination of a hot summer breeze, warm skin and cool surf—even though they were miles away from a body of water.

  She felt grimy just standing next to him.

  Saturday night. Shower. He was probably headed out to one of the many clubs on and off base.

  “Get your own cart,” she said, as he continued to fill hers.

  “They’re all out up front.”

  “I’m trying to keep my number of items down so I can go through the express lane.”

  “We’ll split up when we get to the checkout,” he said.

  “I hate when people do that. That’s cheating.”

  “How is that cheating?”

  “If you’re in such a hurry to hit the town tonight, you shouldn’t even be shopping. You knew it was going to be crowded.”

  A hint of amusement shone in his eyes. She was avoiding his apology like she’d been avoiding him all week. And he knew it. Or at least suspected it.

  “Truce?” he asked.

  She was mad at him and she wanted to stay mad at him, but the truth was she was so tired of fighting with him, and her mother, that his over-the-top charm presented the perfect foil for her bad mood. She cracked a smile. “I’ll think about it.”

  That is, until she saw what he was contemplating in the drug aisle. Did he think he was just going to sneak condoms by her? Three packs? Extra large. Especially when he wasn’t hitting on her.

  She’d realized he’d probably enjoyed sex in the past year, but she hadn’t thought about it until now. Her stomach knotted and nothing in the cart looked appetizing anymore.

  “Let me get your expert opinion,” he asked. “What do women really want? Ribbed for her pleasure or extra lubricated?” He held up the two packages. “I always wanted to ask that without getting arrested.”

  “Try the ones that glow in the dark,” she said, choosing the least appealing. Except maybe whatever bimbo he picked up would think that fun. “And skip the lubricant.”

  “Really?”

  “Uh-huh,” she agreed. She even managed to keep a straight face as she reached past him for a box of tampons, hoping to humiliate him into finding his own cart.

  But her choice of weapons backfired. She hadn’t had her period since giving birth to Fallon, which only served to remind her that they’d made a baby together. And he was sleeping with other women. She threw a couple more feminine hygiene products into the cart without even looking at them.

  “Is that it?” she asked. “I think I’m at my limit for the express lane.”

  “No, that’s not it.” He took out his list and turned down the next aisle. “Peanut butter?” he asked, picking up the Peter Pan.

  “I like this brand better.” She reached around him for the Smuckers All Natural and a jar of Strawberry Simply Fruit, and set them in the cart. He tossed the Peter Pan in anyway.

  The aisle ahead was blocked by a young mother who struggled to keep an infant and two small boys under control.

  “They neve
r had shopping carts like that when I was a kid.” Mac eyed the big plastic truck with envy.

  “You can see why.”

  The woman was having a hard time keeping her boys from escaping the side doors, and at the same time keeping them separated so they would quit pounding on each other. The infant in the Snugli cried as the woman scolded the boys. When she stopped to comfort the baby, the boys opened the doors to the plastic truck and made good their escape.

  Against traffic, they wove in and out of shoppers, racing and laughing in the face of their mother’s distress.

  “Whoa, there!” McCaffrey swept up a boy in each arm. “Where do you two think you’re going?” he asked in a voice that could reverse the potty training of grown men. “Turn around and march back to your mother.”

  Neither boy moved.

  “That’s an order.”

  The youngest took his cue from his older brother and they both gave a pretty good imitation of stiff-legged toy soldiers. Hannah hid her smile behind her hand.

  Mac followed not too far behind the boys, and Hannah, with the cart, covered his rear, trying not to notice how nice it was.

  “Thank you kindly,” the flustered and very pregnant young mother said. Hannah longed to reach out and stroke her baby’s dark head. “We just came from seein’ their daddy off.” Cart loaded with comfort food, she struggled to hold back tears. “I promised these two a treat if they could behave themselves.” Her scowl showed her displeasure.

  “Tell you what,” Mac said, hunkering down to their level. He pulled his wallet from his back pocket. “This one’s on me.” He held out a five-dollar bill toward the oldest boy. When the boy went to take it, McCaffrey snatched it back. “If you can behave.”

  The boy nodded, eager for his reward.

  “While your daddy’s gone, he wouldn’t want you misbehaving for your momma now, would he? No,” Mac answered for the little boy, shaking his head. “Here you go.” He handed over the bribe. “I suppose you want one, too,” he asked the younger brother.