Guarding Laura

by Susan Vaughan

  A nervous laugh bubbled up. “I want to tell you the lesson they taught me. I finally learned it because of you. Do you remember Jamila and Desirée?”

  “Is Desirée the one who wants to be Serena Williams?”

  “That’s Tanisha. Desirée has trouble at home, and Jamila’s gangster brother keeps bringing trouble home. For a while last year, both girls went to live with Jamila’s grandmother, who already cares for two others. Only Jamila is the old lady’s blood relative.”

  He edged forward, his blue gaze riveting her. “And what did you learn from that?”

  She drew a deep breath. Here goes nothing. Or everything. “The grandmother tells the children she takes in that they’re her family now, that love is thicker than blood. Jamila said she read it in ‘Dear Abby.’ Waiting for you to come in last night, I had a long time to think, and I remembered. That saying is like what you tried to tell me—love, not blood makes a family.”

  Cole came toward her.

  “No, let me finish. I’ve made a terrible mistake, and it may be too late. I need to say this. So you understand.”

  Ignoring her protest, he cupped her shoulders in his cool hands. His hot gaze roamed over her features. The emotion in the blue depths sent fire racing across her nerve endings. “Say what you have to say, Laura, but I need to hold you while you say it.”

  His familiar, dark scent filtered into her senses. She swallowed and had to look away from his mesmerizing gaze. “I—I should have seen it before. Bearing children hasn’t made Desirée’s mother a good parent. You were more parent to your dad than he was to you.”

  “Mine was definitely a dysfunctional family. But I understand your blindness. I can’t feel what you suffered, are still suffering. You couldn’t see through your pain.” He kissed her temple.

  She sighed at the warm support his lips conveyed. “And my pride. I should have given you more credit for your capacity to love and for changing from the callow youth of ten years ago. You love Marisol and the other orphans you help. I planned to adopt, as a single parent, but I never—”

  “Shh, sweetheart. You were grief-stricken at losing a baby, then at learning you could never have another. And being in fear for your life skews all perspective.” He skimmed a finger lightly as a feather across her cheek. “Let me help, Laura. Let me love you.”

  Tears welled in her burning eyes. She cupped a hand on his unshaven jaw. “Oh, Cole, I’m sorry I hurt you so badly. I love you so much.”

  He pressed her close so she basked in his heat and strength, felt his passion against her belly. His lips claimed hers, and the world ceased to exist. Salty tears seeping from beneath squeezed lids, she answered his tender assault with hungering lips and wrapped her arms around his neck. His taste of coffee and desire intoxicated her like champagne.

  “What hurt me was what hurt you. We can heal each other. Tell me you’ll marry me.” He lifted her up and carried her to the sofa. Cradling her in his lap, he stroked her hair and down her back. “Zuh taso muhabbam.”

  “That’s not Spanish. More Pashtu? What is it this time?”

  “I love you.”

  “Zuh taso muhabbam,” Laura repeated. She clutched at his shirtfront, desperate to believe this wasn’t a dream. Peering into his eyes, she saw faith and honesty and trust. She cradled his face in her hands and kissed him with all the relief and happiness whirling through her. “And the baby? You forgive me for keeping that secret from you for so long?”

  “There’s nothing to forgive. You had no reason to trust me. God, I love you,” Cole murmured against her mouth. He grasped her shoulders and held her away from him. A muscle in his jaw jumped. “But you still haven’t said you’ll marry me. I’m dying here.”

  “Cole, I love you. You’re my other half. I love your self-made success, your protectiveness and your honor. You helped me overcome my guilt and pride. Yes, yes, yes, I’ll marry you.”

  He beamed a jubilant smile. “Thank God.” He kissed her again, gliding his hands over her breasts. “I need to feel you against me. How can I get you out of these jeans?”

  A knock sounded at the door.

  Oh, no, the limo driver. Her eyes widened in horror.

  “What the hell?”

  A giggle erupted as she pushed away from him. “Wait a minute.” She whisked outside and dismissed the driver. Her father would understand. He had to. She wasn’t leaving without Cole. Ever again.

  When she returned, he was waiting for her on the couch. Desire rippled through her when he stripped away her jeans and wrenched off his shirt.

  Once their clothing was banished, he knelt between her legs and smoothed back her hair as he joined them. He moaned with pleasure. “Ah, Laura, at last, nothing between us. No barriers. No secrets. Only love.”

  She would have told him how much she needed him, how much she loved him, but his erotic caresses stole her power of speech. And then she was wrapped around him, and he was moving within her, and neither of them could speak except in the passionate welcome home their bodies and souls gave each other.

  Epilogue

  Two weeks later

  “Marisol’s been looking for you all day, Ms. Rossiter,” the floor nurse said cheerfully. “Every time I’ve been in to check on her, she asked for her ángel dorado.”

  Laura returned her smile and held up a book. “Thanks. I brought a Spanish language copy of Goodnight, Moon. Marisol will have to put up with my awkward pronunciation.”

  She hurried down the Johns Hopkins Pediatrics hallway toward the child’s room. Medicinal and disinfectant odors permeated the bright pastel corridor.

  The four-year-old orphan had arrived in the United States ten days ago. Laura had acted as sponsor, and Cole had accompanied her from Colombia.

  Marisol had undergone the corrective surgery on her foot five days earlier. The surgeon’s words were guarded, but he admitted all signs pointed to success. The physical therapist had already begun exercises with Marisol to strengthen her. Once the cast came off and therapy began in earnest, they’d have a clearer idea of long-term recovery. Judging from the child’s eagerness, Laura believed she’d walk normally.

  “Oh, Ms. Rossiter,” the nurse called. “Mr. Stratton is already here, but I suppose it’s all right if you go in. Try not to tire her too much.”

  Cole is here. She crossed her fingers he had good news about Marisol’s future. And theirs.

  She nodded, her pulse skipping in anticipation. The squeak of rubber-soled shoes on the tile floor and the clatter of trays faded into the background.

  She stopped at the door with the patient label that read, “Marisol Ortiz.” The door swung in so gently, the two people in the room didn’t look up from their animated conversation.

  Clad in the pink bunny pajamas Laura had brought yesterday, Marisol sat propped up with pillows on her hospital bed. One leg covered with bandages and a plastic cast from foot to knee lay on a U-shaped support.

  Two heads nodded—one big and raven-haired, one small and blessed with a mop of raisin-brown curls—as Cole and Marisol chattered in Spanish too rapid for Laura.

  Happiness swelled her heart. Cole looked the same as he had that day in Maine when he’d suddenly appeared outside the tennis court. Closely cropped hair, eyes the color of Arctic seas, khaki cargos, military boots. The only changes were a tailored charcoal shirt instead of a T-shirt and a luminous smile instead of a stormy glower.

  Seeing him with that darling child made her feel alight from the inside, as though she’d swallowed a sunbeam.

  “Hola, Marisol,” she said. “Hi.”

  The little girl was small for her age, with too thin limbs that needed nourishment and exercise, but her lively spirit and bright smile lit the room. She laughed in welcome and wiggled her fingers to beckon Laura closer. “Laura, mi ángel dorado!”

  From his position seated on the bed’s edge, Cole eased to his feet with slow, animal grace. His arms went around Laura, holding her tightly. He kissed her forehead.

 
She savored the strength of his arms around her, the solid proof that her happiness was real. Gratitude that they’d found love together again threatened to overwhelm her. Because of the child, she disengaged herself. Reluctantly.

  Laura turned to the waiting girl and gave her a big hug. “¿Cómo ti sientes?” she asked. How are you feeling?

  Her taffy-brown cheeks flushed with excitement, Marisol replied in a flurry of childish Spanish that seemed to mean she was feeling chipper. She pointed to the picture book in Laura’s hand. “¿El libro, es para mi?”

  Was the book for her? That much Laura could handle. Of course it was for her. “Sí, es para ti.”

  A big smile on her pixie face, Marisol reached out with eager arms. Her big brown eyes sparkled with excitement.

  Cole watched as Laura placed the popular children’s book in small, eager hands. In her pale yellow linen dress that skimmed her hips, she was his ángel dorado—his golden angel—too. Her recent injuries had healed, along with the pain in her soul, leaving behind only scars that no longer mattered.

  Though she’d been through hell and back, her courage and generous heart had pulled him out of his black hole of bitterness. He couldn’t take his eyes off her, especially with the child who would soon be hers. Theirs.

  Laura ran a finger beneath the title. “Buenas noches, luna. I’ll read it to you later.” She lifted her shoulders and looked to Cole for help. “My Spanish is too rusty. I’ve forgotten how to say it.”

  He quickly translated.

  “Thank you,” Marisol said in halting English. Then she turned the first page and fell into the colorful pictures.

  Cole stepped away from the child’s bed. He clasped Laura’s hand. Her woman scent—apple and Laura—floated up to him, and he wrapped himself in its blanket.

  “Good that you can sit with her awhile,” he said. “I have to go soon. You wouldn’t believe the red tape on this case.”

  “I’ve been tangled up in it myself.” Her soft voice was tonic to his soul. “Has Markos told you what you needed? Have you gotten information about Husam Al-Din and New Dawn?”

  He twisted his mouth in a wry grin. “His lawyers have him under wraps, but he’s given us a little. He’s more afraid of Husam than the courts. There was more for sale than Markos had you verify. And a great deal more profit. Millions. It seems our greedy importer skimmed a healthy chunk off the top, and the terrorists’ money man figured it out. That’s the real reason Markos was leaving the country.”

  Laura shook her head in disbelief. “He stole from New Dawn? What does he do for excitement, play Russian roulette?”

  “He sure as hell seems to be spinning the cylinder now. And we have to convince him we can protect him before the chambered bullet clicks around to blow him away.”

  “Papá Cole.” Marisol launched into rapid-fire speech.

  Laura sent him a questioning look.

  When the child finally ran down like a wind-up toy, he cleared his throat. It was time. His heart bounced like one of Laura’s tennis balls. “Marisol wants me to tell her ángel dorado the secret I shared with her today.”

  “A secret? The adoption?” Anticipation burned her eyes.

  “You’re leaking again.” He dabbed at her cheek.

  She blinked back the tears of joy. “Marisol won’t return to Colombia? We can keep her?”

  He lifted her hand to his lips. “We’ll have a boatload of red tape to go through, but I got the word. How many bedrooms in that house of yours in D.C.?”

  Her smile glowed. “Three. But I imagine we could find something bigger.”

  He grinned. “Marisol will only be our first.”

  “I can stay home with her while she has therapy. The museum replaced me with a series of interns. I’m working only part-time directing special projects.”

  “And I’ve put in for transfer from fieldwork to the analysis desk. I’ll be D.C. based from now on.”

  “We have a wedding to plan. Then we’ll be a real family.”

  “Es mi mamá ahora?” Marisol asked Cole. A Cheshire-cat smile showing white teeth, she wriggled closer to them.

  “Sí, niña, I am now your mama.” Laura sat on the bed.

  “Por favor, mami.” A dimple winked in the child’s cheek. “Leeme el libro.”

  Cole’s heart leaped and kicked so hard he thought it might burst out of his chest and dance around the room. He’d damn well stay awhile with his almost wife and daughter. ATSA’s red tape could wait.

  “Go ahead. Read her the story, sweetheart,” Cole said. He stood beside them, his arm around Laura and his hand resting on Marisol’s small shoulder.

  Stamps and signatures would make it official, but love already made them a family.

  A real family.

  This single moment beat anything he’d ever dared hope or dream. Happiness welled up in his chest until he could barely breathe past the football-sized lump in his throat.

  He blinked back his emotion as he listened to the simple text, as lyrical and beautiful in Spanish as in English.

  ISBN: 978-1-4268-7355-3

  GUARDING LAURA

  Copyright © 2004 by Susan Hofstetter Vaughan

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the editorial office, Silhouette Books, 233 Broadway, New York, NY 10279 U.S.A.

  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

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