The Seal’s Baby

by Rogenna Brewer

  Her hand slipped up to ease the tension at the base of his neck, but there was only one thing that would release his lower-body tension. He wanted her to touch him there before another kind of fear and doubt set in—that maybe she was right. He wasn’t cut out for this.

  Fallon dropped her soother in their love nest and wailed. Nothing like a kid crying in your ear to douse the flame. Hannah backed away, comforting their crying daughter. “I’m still not convinced that means you’ll stick around.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  “HANNAH, IS THAT YOU?” her mother called out from the kitchen.

  Hannah held her daughter in one arm and her seabag in the other. Her mother had left the keys to the Lexus and a discreet note about catching a ride home with JJ at the yeoman’s desk.

  “Oh, honey, it’s so good to see you,” her mother said, getting up from the table to hug her. “You know Captain Loring, don’t you?” She sniffed the air around Hannah. “Oh, my goodness, what is that smell?”

  “It’s me, Mother.”

  “Give me the baby,” her mother demanded, taking Fallon. “Go upstairs and shower and change.”

  What with the crash, the debriefing and the confrontation with McCaffrey, she wasn’t in the mood to give up control of any other aspect of her life.

  She took Fallon back and retreated to her bedroom. She didn’t even care that it was her mother’s furnishings throughout the house and not her own, until she found her things stored in the nursery and in her bedroom. They hadn’t even bothered to put together her bed. Everything was just leaning up against the wall. She wanted to cry.

  But she was so dead-on-her-feet tired, sleep sounded better.

  She should have been mad at McCaffrey for daring to kiss her in anger, but the man had been trembling in her arms, which made her putty in his.

  She changed the baby in the Portacrib, then let her play there while she made enough room to drop the king-size mattress to the floor.

  Then Hannah stripped, put on a clean T-shirt and collapsed on top of the mattress. “Mommy’s home.”

  For now.

  “SEAN MICHAEL MCCAFFREY!”

  Only his mother could make him feel guilty just by using his given name. Sean was a name he despised and hadn’t used since kindergarten, which was when he’d told his teacher his name was Mike and the name had stuck.

  The doorbell rang.

  “Could you hold on a sec, Ma?” Mike switched the phone to his left ear and dug in his back pocket for his wallet. “Gotta get the door,” he said, walking toward it.

  “You haven’t called home in more than a year and you put me on hold? Not even a call on Mother’s Day, Michael. Or Father’s Day, your father says. What kind of son did we raise?”

  “A hungry one.” He opened the door to the deliveryman from Wong’s Chinese. He took the brown bag, paid the man, including a hefty tip for the rush, and closed the door.

  “I suppose there’s no food in the house. Would it hurt you to go to the grocery store once in a while?”

  “There’s no food in the house, because I’m never here.”

  “He’s not eating,” she said to his father.

  “Ma, I’m eating.”

  “I bet you’re all skin and bones.”

  “I’m thirty-five, not sixteen.”

  “I know how old you are, Michael. I gave birth to you, remember? Do I ever forget your birthday?”

  “I sent a card. Mother’s Day, too.”

  “But you didn’t call. And whoever heard of electronic cards? I had to have your sister print it out on fancy paper to prove to everyone my boy doesn’t forget his mother’s birthday.”

  Everyone being the busybodies in her church group he was sure. It had taken a lot of effort and planning for him to set his computer to send cards on birthdays and holidays, to pay his bills on time. Why couldn’t she give him credit for that?

  Wasn’t it the thought that counted?

  He thought about his family all the time. He just had to set reminders so they’d know it when he couldn’t tell them himself.

  “Are you through giving me a hard time?”

  “You know we love you, Michael. That’s why we give you a hard time. Now your father wants to know if you’re coming home for our anniversary dinner?”

  “Uh, that’s what I called to talk to you about.”

  “Oh, Michael—”

  “It’s not that. I’ll be there. It’s just— I’m bringing someone with me—”

  “He’s bringing a date,” she said to his father. “You’re father says good, it’s about time—”

  “Not a date, Ma. I have a little girl. A daughter. Her name is Fallon. She’s five months old.”

  “Oh, Michael…”

  Thirty-five years old, and he still held his breath, awaiting their reaction, their approval. There was a long pause as his mother relayed the news to his father.

  Then his father came on the line. “Fallon’s a good Irish name, son.”

  “I had nothing to do with naming her. I just found out about this myself.”

  “I see.” His father said a lot with those two words. “This being the baby and all? Does this baby, your baby, have a mother?”

  “Hannah,” he said, looking down at his forgotten dinner.

  “Her name’s Hannah,” his father said to his mother.

  His mother took the line again. “How come we’ve never heard mention of her before this?”

  “You’ll meet her this weekend. Look, we can stay in a motel—”

  “You won’t be staying in any motel. You’ll be staying right here, the three of you. He wants to stay in a motel,” she said to his father. “Your father wants to know what Hannah’s father does for a living and if we’ll be meeting her folks before the wedding?”

  “There isn’t going to be a wedding.”

  MIKE PULLED UP in front of Hannah’s house at 0500. She must have been waiting for him because she carried the baby outside before he reached the door. His baby. Mike was glad to see she’d packed light, only one suitcase.

  “I’ll get that,” he offered, taking it from her and heading back toward his Jeep. She didn’t follow.

  “No baby of mine is riding in a vehicle with a roll bar.”

  “Point taken.” He grabbed his gear and hauled both back to her Lexus. She popped her trunk.

  “The rest of Fallon’s things are inside by the door. I’ll buckle her into her car seat.”

  Mike dutifully trod up the walk. Inside he found diaper bag, baby-gym, umbrella stroller, Portacrib, another suitcase and an overnight bag the size of his. He loaded up and hauled it outside. “I did say just the weekend right?”

  “You’ve never traveled with a baby before.”

  “I’ve never had a baby before.”

  “Point taken,” she said. “Don’t put the diaper bag in the trunk. I’ll need that here in the back seat. The overnight bag, too.”

  “Anything else?” he asked before closing the lid.

  “That’s it,” she said, getting in on the driver’s side. “Oh, would you mind leaving your keys with Sammy? We only have the one car.”

  “You really know how to hurt a guy.” He took a deep, almost comical breath and walked his keys to the front door where he exchanged a few pleasantries with Hannah’s sister.

  Mike rode shotgun. A bit different than last time—he wasn’t toting any weapons, and she wasn’t speeding through the gates of a terrorist training camp. Yeah, today was a pretty damn good day.

  “That everything?” he asked.

  She ran through some sort of a mental checklist. “I think we’re all set.” She put the keys in the ignition and started the car.

  “Nice hardtop. I’d like to take a ride with top down sometime,” he commented, keeping their conversation on neutral ground.

  “Not with the baby.”

  He hadn’t meant right now, but let the comment slide.

  “If you give me the address I can punch it into the GPS,” she o
ffered.

  “I know where we’re going.” He’d made the trip often enough. “It’s about a ten-hour trip. How much does one of these things run anyway?”

  “Seventy-five.”

  “Thousand? That’s more than I paid for my house in Imperial Beach ten years ago.” He gave in to the gadget and plugged his parents’ address into the GPS system. Who the hell paid 75K for a car? “Nine hours, fifty-three minutes. Six hundred and fifty-one miles.”

  “If you say so.” She sounded doubtful.

  “Petrone pays that well?” Now there’s a name he never thought he’d bring up in conversation again.

  “He does.”

  “I take it the one weekend a month, two weeks a year, warrior gig isn’t for the extra cash?”

  “I like to fly.”

  “You must have taken a pretty big pay cut when you were activated.”

  “I did.”

  Come on. He was trying here. “What exactly is your net worth?”

  She gave him a look, a look that said none-of-your-beeswax.

  “An estimate. Mid-six?”

  “Higher.”

  “Seven figures! Why are you even in the reserves? Why don’t you just stay home with the baby?”

  “Why don’t you stay home with her? You make less money than I do.”

  Ouch! “Not right now I don’t. Take the next right,” he said. “Anyway, you know I can’t.” Neither of them could. Resigning during conflict might be interpreted as an act of cowardice.

  “You don’t do it for the money, Mike. Why would you assume I do?”

  “That’s not what I meant.” He glanced over the back seat at their daughter. Buckled in behind the driver, in a rear-facing car seat, all he could see were her hands batting at the toy hanging overhead. He reached over and put his hand on her head, smoothing back her hair. “It would just be nice if one of us could. That’s all I was saying.”

  Fallon twisted against her restraint trying to get a better look at him. She dropped her pacifier and started bawling. He plugged her back in.

  Deciding to drop the subject before he found himself in hot water, Mike fiddled with the satellite radio. “What do you like to listen to?” Restless, he scanned the preset buttons, then flipped through her CD collection. “Movie soundtracks? You collect movie soundtracks?”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “What Women Want,” he read, then turned it over, “Bitch and Mack the Knife. I’m not even going to ask. Do you have anything else? Classical music for babies,” he answered his own question. “Turn left on Coronado Cays.”

  Hannah pulled over. “Would you like to drive?”

  “I thought you’d never ask.”

  They opened their respective doors and played musical chairs, except Hannah got in the back seat with Fallon.

  “Now I’m your chauffeur? With the money you make, I guess that sounds about right.”

  “Somebody has to keep her entertained or she’s going to sleep right through the whole trip and be up all night.”

  What about him? Who was going to keep him entertained?

  He put in a CD and sang along with Meredith Brooks about female empowerment.

  “Just drive,” Hannah said with laughter in her voice.

  He stole a glance in the rearview mirror. “It’s good to see you smiling again, Han.”

  “I was thinking the same thing about you, McCaffrey.”

  “ARE WE THERE YET?” Hannah asked, rousing herself when the car rolled to a stop. She’d moved to the front passenger seat to let Fallon nap before meeting her grandparents. She’d been dozing on and off herself because McCaffrey wouldn’t give up control of the wheel.

  Twelve hours into their road trip, and he was no longer smiling. Hannah couldn’t help it; she wanted to laugh out loud, he was being so darn surly. He’d underestimated the number of stops required when traveling with a baby.

  “Not much farther,” he said. “Half hour. Hannah—”

  “Where are we?” In a parking lot. She read the neon sign. “The Last Chance Chapel. Nevada? We’re in Nevada?”

  “Any chance you’ve changed your mind?” He gripped the steering wheel with his left hand, his knuckles almost white.

  “What exactly did you tell your parents about us?”

  Understandably, she was already nervous about meeting them and this didn’t make it any easier. At their last rest stop, she’d changed Fallon into a new outfit then put her down so she’d awaken at her cutest.

  “They’re a bit old-fashioned. But I didn’t concoct some fairy tale, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

  “Good. Because I’m not getting married in the Divorce Capital of the World at the Last Chance Chapel.”

  “So that’s a maybe?”

  No! That’s what she should have said, Hannah decided some twenty minutes later, still trying to recover from the shock of his confident pronouncement.

  Headed southwest now, and far away from Reno, though not far enough for her, he turned down a dirt road at about seven-thirty in the evening. The sun set in amber waves over the beautiful Sierra Nevada mountain range. They’d passed Lake Tahoe and newer luxury homes along the way, but the rambling white farmhouse up ahead felt like a real home. Horses trotted up to the fence next to the barn, and three men and two boys standing around the upturned cab of an eighteen-wheeler waved.

  Two barking hounds ran out to the tree-lined driveway to meet them—straight out of a Norman Rockwell picture.

  Mike slowed to avoid hitting the dogs. Honking a warning or a welcome, he rolled down his window and waved back to the men who headed their way. The back door opened on the women and more children filed out.

  As the small battalion advanced on them, Mike got out of the car. “Hey, Jewel. Hey, Ruby.” He pushed the dogs back before they could climb in all over the leather car seats.

  Hannah was slower, less certain about getting out of the car. The dogs sensed her hesitation and jumped her.

  “Down,” Mike ordered, and they obeyed.

  “Michael.” A woman Hannah assumed was his mother folded him into her arms.

  Then he got several more hugs and kisses from his sisters before the big redheaded man in bib overalls wiped his grease-stained hands and pulled Mike into a bear hug. “Welcome home, son.”

  “Mike’s home! Mike’s home!” An adult she’d mistaken for a child threw his arms around Mike’s middle.

  “Hannah, this is my brother, Buddy.” He introduced his brother while knuckling his towhead. Buddy stood about five feet, two inches compared to Mike’s six feet, two.

  “I’m Buddy,” he enunciated carefully in a surprisingly deep voice. He held out his hand.

  “Buddy, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Hannah.” They shook hands.

  “Hannah and Mike have a baby,” Buddy said. His grin got big and his eyes closed to tiny slits. The smile lit up his face.

  “Yes, we do,” she answered, hoping it didn’t sound as if she was talking down to him. He must be around twenty-five, and he had peach fuzz on his chin. “Her name is Fallon. Would you like to meet her?” Hannah opened the back door.

  “Mike?” Buddy demanded. “Does your baby have Down Syndrome like me?”

  THE SUBJECT HADN’T come up when Mike had talked to his folks. But he knew it had to have been on their minds, and judging from Buddy’s question, the topic of dinner conversation around the McCaffrey household. Buddy was a perfect mimic.

  Mike broke the awkward silence. “No, Bud, Fallon doesn’t have Down Syndrome.”

  “That’s good, Mike,” Buddy said with the pragmatic wisdom of the very innocent. “’Cause we’re going to love her no matter what.”

  “That’s right,” Mike agreed, hugging Buddy to his side. “We’re gonna love her.”

  Dammit. His eyes felt like a sandstorm had just blown in from the desert. Every time he got to this altitude, his sinuses acted up. The animals didn’t help. Neither did that knot in his gut that had just relaxed with relie
f.

  His daughter was perfect. He’d jumped a hurdle without even realizing he’d come to it. She’d have been perfect and he’d have loved her no matter what. He could let go of that old fear now, couldn’t he?

  Where did that leave him exactly, now that he’d found the courage to love unconditionally? Maybe he’d always had that capability.

  “Everybody,” he said to his family, “this is Hannah and our daughter, Fallon. Hannah,” he squeezed her shoulder, offering his reassurance. “This is everybody. Don’t worry, you’ll catch on. We won’t throw the names at you all at once. You’ve met Buddy. Here’s my mom and dad.”

  “Mr. and Mrs. McCaffrey,” Hannah held Fallon upright to show her off.

  “None of that Mr. and Mrs.,” his father said. “We answer to Shamus and Maudie, but Mom and Dad will do if you’re so inclined. You’ve made an old man happy giving a fine Irish name like Fallon to a McCaffrey. Now bring the boy to heel so I can die a happy man. He’s a lack-brain if he hasn’t proposed at least a dozen times already.”

  “Shamus, you said you wouldn’t say anything. Never you mind, Hannah. Don’t let an old man’s folly scare you off. Make the boy propose another dozen times to make sure he’s worthy. That’s what I did with this one here. Now let me at that sweet grandbaby.” His mother took Fallon right from Hannah’s arms.

  HANNAH STIFLED A YAWN.

  “Hannah, you look tired after your long trip. We shouldn’t have kept you up so late,” Maude said, putting an end to the conversation. “I see you brought a portable crib? I already set up the old crib in the guest room. I put you both in there. That’s all right, isn’t it?”

  “Of course, thank you.” Hannah was used to sleeping in the same room with Fallon and actually preferred it.

  Mike’s mother carried Fallon upstairs and Hannah followed. “Sean Michael McCaffrey,” she called back downstairs, “get off your duff and bring the bags with you.” She turned to the left. “This used to be the girls’ room. But after all the kids were gone, I converted it into a guest/sewing room. There’s a connecting bathroom and on the other side is the boys’ room. But don’t worry, Buddy won’t bother you. You can lock the bathroom door, and he’ll use the one downstairs…”