By now, local officials were arriving, sirens blaring, red and blue lights adding to the already chaotic scene. It would be simple enough to run around front and ask for medical assistance. Trouble was, not knowing which government was currently in charge, or their opinion of the good old U.S.A., put them in a bind.
As Deacon’s commander had said, they needed to be ghosts, leaving as stealthily as they’d arrived.
With the staging area a good mile east, Deacon cradled the infant as close to his chest as he could while still hugging shadows and staying alert for additional danger. Most of all, he prayed his own daughter never found herself in this much danger.
* * *
FIVE DAYS AFTER Ellie had last spoken to Deacon, she opened the front door to him, the scent of honeysuckle heavy in the twilight’s warmth. Knees rubbery, she had to keep a strong hold on the door frame so as not to crumple.
“Hey.” He was dressed in cargo shorts and a navy T-shirt. Even with his eyes hidden by gold-rimmed Ray-Bans, Deacon looked exhausted, but still steal-your-breath handsome. Tall, with broad shoulders and a square jaw sporting stubble. His dark hair had grown out of its usual buzz and now was a rummaged-through mess. When he smiled—oh, when he smiled—that was when she’d always had to work to keep her pulse from racing. White teeth and a lopsided dimple drew in the ladies more effectively than a 75% off sale at Jimmy Choo.
“I’d ask where you’ve been,” she quipped, striving for a lighthearted tone, beyond relieved that he was okay, “but Tom taught me better.”
“Yeah, uh…” With a bottle of Patrón in hand, he brushed past her. When their shoulders touched, her throat knotted from the unexpected pleasure of sharing his warmth. Impossible to explain, but she felt an irrational connection to him. “Sorry for the abrupt exit. You know how it is,” he murmured.
She did. And in many ways, being a SEAL’s wife had sucked.
Nodding to ward off tears ready to spill, she said, “I’m having iced tea. Want a glass?”
“Thanks, but—” he waved his unopened bottle “—I brought my own refreshment.”
While Ellie bustled into the kitchen to refill her glass, Deacon stood on the threshold, hands crammed in his pockets. Did he, too, feel awkward about the way their last conversation had ended?
From over the baby monitor, Pia let loose a few fitful whines. She’d crashed earlier than usual tonight. Striving for some semblance of normalcy, Ellie had taken her to their weekly play group comprised of base moms and toddlers. Ellie had hoped it’d be fun, but with her naval husband gone, more and more she felt she no longer belonged. Everyone was still kind, but Ellie found they had less and less in common.
“Be right back.” She nodded toward the nursery.
Deacon blocked her path. “Let me.”
“No. You’re holding booze.”
“Holding. Not drinking.”
She wanted to deny him, but the hard set of his jaw told her he wasn’t backing down.
For a good five minutes, she watched him from the edge of the sofa that allowed her a view into her daughter’s room. Pia had long since quieted and now Deacon just sat there, elbows on his knees, chin on his fists, staring. As if in a trance, he was stone still. The bottle of Patrón never left the floor.
Was his behavior a result of the mission he’d just completed, or more? Had he only just now absorbed the gravity of becoming a father? If so, what did that mean for her? For Pia?
Unable to bear the current scene, Ellie brewed coffee. Not for her, but for Deacon. He took it black.
Strange how she knew dozens of mundane facts about him, ranging from his coffee preferences to his aversion to broccoli. She’d known him intimately, yet for all practical purposes, they were strangers. Strangers who shared a child.
An hour passed.
Ellie folded laundry, dusted the contents of her curio cabinet, unloaded the dishwasher, stared at the paperwork necessary for volunteering at a local alcoholic outreach program. Ada thought helping others might get Ellie’s mind off her own worries, but Ellie wasn’t so sure.
Finally, without a sound other than leather flip-flops hitting his heels, Deacon went out onto the deck, tequila in hand. He didn’t bother to shut the door. Temperaturewise, it was pleasant outside, but the breeze came from just the right direction to ease under the seascape hanging behind the sofa, making it clap against the wall.
After pouring Deacon a mug of his favorite Kona blend, she joined him outside. Baby monitor in hand, she shut the door behind her.
Deacon stood at the rail, staring into the night.
“Thanks,” he said when she handed him the mug.
“You’re welcome. Want to sit down?”
Though he shrugged, as if on autopilot, he crossed the short distance to the table with its comfy, red-cushioned chairs. He hadn’t removed his sunglasses. Meaning she still had no clue as to what he was thinking.
“Nice night, huh?” Ellie’s stab at conversation seemed to fall on deaf ears.
Deacon had zeroed in on his bottle. He drank his coffee down to half-full, then eyed the tequila. “She’s really something,” he said, more to himself than to Ellie. “Pia, I mean. Before…well, I never really noticed.”
“You were over here all the time, Deacon. It wasn’t like Tom and I put her in the cupboard when you barged in for a free meal.”
He half laughed. “It was different then. Pia belonged to Tom.”
And now she’s yours.
The elephant in the room between them. Only they weren’t in a room, and she wasn’t in any position to give parental advice.
Deacon cleared his throat. “I saw some crazy shit the past few days.”
“Language,” she scolded.
“Right.” He downed more coffee. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay. Even though Pia isn’t out here now, it’s good to get in the habit of not cursing. I was constantly reminding Tom we had a little sponge just waiting to one day arrive in kindergarten not knowing her ABCs, but fluent in every SEAL curse.”
“Kindergarten. Wow.” Deacon shook his head. “Yeah, that wouldn’t be good.”
Fat, endless minutes of silence passed, with nothing between them but the rush of wind in the trees.
Finally, Deacon said, “We both know why I’m here, so let’s stop pussyfooting around.”
Ellie wasn’t sure what he meant. Did she even want to know? she wondered, her mouth dry.
“Without letting you in on any state secrets, I just witnessed some shi—stuff—that blew my mind. In my years of service, I’ve seen a lot, but this…” He shook his head. “Before he died, Tom, uh—” Deacon glanced away. “He, um, asked me to look after you and Pia.” Turning back to Ellie, he slipped off his sunglasses and set them on the table. Even in the shadowy light leaking from the house, his eyes looked horrible. Bloodshot. His right cheek sported a bruise. It took everything in her not to gasp.
What happened to you? “Wh-what else did Tom say?” And why was this the first time Deacon had brought it up?
“That’s pretty much it, aside from asking me to tell you and his folks how much he loved them. I—I guess with this anniversary, I’ve been so caught up in how I’m feeling, I forgot I’m not the only one missing him. Tom was a good guy. The best.”
“I know.” Ellie didn’t even try holding back her silent tears.
“He deserved to be Pia’s dad.”
Ellie nodded, relief streaming through her.
Obviously, whatever Deacon had gone through had showed him how important it was for Pia to have continuity in her life. Yes, Ellie was all for Deacon playing an important role in her daughter’s upbringing—like that of a favorite uncle. No one would have to know he was actually the girl’s biological father.
“That said—” Deacon clasped his hands on the tab
le, locking their gazes “—with Tom out of the picture, Garrett helped me see that she’s going to need her real father more than ever.”
Straightening in her chair, Ellie shook her head. “You told Garrett what was supposed to have been our secret?”
“Tristan, too. But he’s cool. They’re both like family.”
Pressing her hands to her superheated face, Ellie wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. “Those two blunderheads you call Woof and Grinder are hardly my family. Sure, you all might’ve worked together, but that doesn’t mean beans.”
“You need to hush before I get angry. Lucky for you, your husband was a SEAL. We take care of our own. You don’t have a clue what it takes to become a SEAL, which means you don’t know jack about how hard we’ll fight for what we love. I loved Tom more than I cared for my own brother. Because of that, you and Pia are under my protection. Admittedly, I’m off to a rocky start, but during the heat of what I just went through—unwrapping C-4 from a baby’s belly—I vowed to never let anything near that kind of horror befall my baby girl.”
Mouth dry, Ellie stammered, “Wh-what does that mean?”
“It means I need to try being a father. We both know I’m going to make mistakes, but at least I’ll be there for her, right?”
“I don’t understand.”
“We live in a scary freaking world. What kind of man would I be, letting my own kid grow up without protection?”
“Um, right…” Deacon didn’t know the first thing about being a father. His speech was all “rah, rah, I’m a SEAL, hear me roar” B.S. “But you plan on doing all of this without the rest of the world knowing, right? You’ll essentially be a private parenting partner?”
Palms flat against the table, he laughed. “Seriously? Are we back to your worries over Tom’s parents finding out you’re an adult woman who dared have an adult dalliance before you even met their son?”
“What’s wrong with you?” Ellie said in a whispered hiss. “My husband’s barely been a year in his grave. His family and Pia are the only things keeping me sane. How dare you step foot in my home and make demands?”
“That’s you putting your own spin on my words. I’ve been trained to handle situations, and we certainly have a doozy here. Bottom line, I’m Pia’s father, and as such, I’m more than ready to step up to the parenting plate. If you need more time to adjust to my taking on this role in a formal capacity—” he shrugged “—I guess I can live with that. But not for long.”
When relief over the fact that Deacon wasn’t dead set on rushing to John and Helen first thing in the morning flowed through her, Ellie sharply exhaled. She also released the iron grip she’d held on her emotions. All at once, fear and grief and anger for even getting herself in this position poured from her in ugly tears.
“Hey, whoa…” In true Deacon style, he stood up and backed away.
“Please, just go,” Ellie said, swiping at her cheeks.
Instead of doing as she asked, he shocked her by pausing, then taking a few awkward steps forward and drawing her into a loose, equally awkward hug. She wanted to push him away, convinced she didn’t need his pity. But it turned out she did. With grief rising in her belly, threatening to cut off all air, she clung to him, fisting his shirt, resting her head against his warm, solid chest.
He tightened his hold, burying his face in her hair. “It’s okay. Let it out.”
“I—I can’t. I—I have to stay strong for Pia. And Tom’s parents.”
“I’m here. Lean on me.”
She did, crying until the only tears remaining were the ones deep inside she feared would haunt her for years to come.
When she finally felt strong enough to stand on her own, she drew back, intending to thank Deacon for being there. Only his eyes were misty, too.
“Of all the people in the world,” she said hoarsely, “you and I were the only ones who really, truly knew him. His parents loved him, but they didn’t know him. Not like we did.”
Deacon nodded.
“I’ve wanted to tell you about Pia for a long time now, but the timing never felt right.”
“It’s okay…” He shook his head. “Well, it’s not okay that you kept this from me, but now that I know, I deserve the chance to prove I can be a good man. Never in Tom’s league, but for Pia’s sake, at least close.”
“But you’re not pushing the whole official daddy title, right?”
Tipping his head back, Deacon groaned. “You’re like a dog with a bone. Leave it alone, Ell. Like it or not, as Garrett says, I am Pia’s father. I’m trying to be sensitive here. Really, I am. But there’s only so much a guy can stand.” He gave her a glare before turning to look out to sea. “I’m good enough for you to cry on, but not for anyone to know I fathered your kid?”
As if wanting to say more, but holding back, he laughed before reaching for his Patrón. He walked down the steps off the deck and stood at the back fence. Ellie watched as he tipped up the bottle repeatedly.
She should’ve gone to him, but couldn’t.
The most she could manage was taking and hiding his motorcycle key.
And just when she’d thought all her tears had been spent, they returned with a vengeance. Were it not for her fears of Tom’s parents learning she wasn’t the perfect wife they’d imagined her to be, Deacon would still be sober beside her, making her world a less lonely place.
Why couldn’t he understand how much was at stake if she admitted Tom hadn’t been Pia’s dad?
Why can’t you understand Deacon has every right in the world to share the truth whenever and with whomever he pleases?
Chapter Four
The morning sun was like a laser in his eyes when Deacon woke on Ellie’s sofa, feeling as if he’d been kicked by the mule he’d encountered in a rural area on his last mission. Worse yet, from the nursery, Pia wailed. Where was Ellie?
The restroom needed to be first on his priority list, but his mission to the Congo had left zero tolerance for baby tears, so he headed straight for the nursery.
He scooped Pia from her crib. “Hey.”
Huffing, red-eyed and offended, she stared at him, harder than any woman he’d ever wronged.
“Ouch.” Leave it to a female to make him feel even worse, when for once he was trying to do the right thing.
Ellie’s bedroom door was closed.
He found the baby monitor off and sitting on the kitchen counter. Assuming Ellie needed the rest if she had been tired enough to forget it, he set Pia in an armchair. “Stay. I’ve really got to take care of business.”
Back from the bathroom, Deacon found his daughter off the chair and making a beeline for a giant potted fern.
“Whoa…” Snatching her around her waist, he held her gaze with his. “Since when are you such a rebel?”
She blew a raspberry.
“And you stink.”
Her giggle didn’t do much to alleviate the smell.
In his role as Uncle Deacon, he hadn’t done much in the way of Pia’s care. Meaning when it came to changing a diaper, he didn’t know squat. How hard could it be?
In the nursery, he started the mission much as any other, by gathering supplies. Clean diaper—check. Wipes. Powder. Lotion. Fresh snappy pajama-thingee.
He figured the table sporting a raised edge and floral pad on top was for changing, and he set Pia there. Only all the supplies were on the counter section of the built-in cabinets and bookshelf.
Eyeing his daughter, he asked, “If I leave you here, are you going to stay?”
The gleam in her eyes told him he’d asked a stupid question. The monkey would be gone faster than he could call her name.
It took a couple trips, but he finally had the equipment and the child in the same place. Unsnapping her PJs was simple enough, but they were damp, so he wr
estled them off, being careful with her arms, as they struck him as somewhat floppy. Normal? He didn’t have a clue.
The dirty diaper was problematic.
Sticky tabs had been made with a super polymer resin apparently tough enough to withstand Pia and others of her kind, yet not especially user friendly for those in a caretaking position. Wishing for his Bowie knife, he settled for ripping, which made for a whole new problem. The fluffy stuff inside the diaper that held the pee? Not cool.
Deacon had wiped, lotioned and powdered when Pia decided to pee again. “Seriously?”
Lucky for her, she already had a killer smile.
Repeating the whole process, adding the diaper, then gently cramming her gangly limbs into ridiculously small clothing holes finally netted him a pleasant-smelling kid. The snaps were out of order, but those were way over his head in level of difficulty.
“Good Lord,” Deacon mumbled on his way back to the kitchen, holding Pia on his right hip. “That was too intense for this early in the day. Know where Mommy keeps her aspirin?”
“Mommy!” Pia’s smile faded and she was back to making the huffy noises she’d produced when he’d first wrangled her from her crib.
Deacon found headache relief in the cabinet alongside the fridge, then poured himself OJ. “Want some?”
He held the juice glass to Pia’s mouth, but she made a sour face.
Checking the fridge, he found bacon and eggs. Nothing took care of a hangover like a big breakfast. “You’re gonna like my bacon, Miss Pia. Back when me and your dad shared a place, he said I didn’t cook it long enough—actually told me the pig was still oinking. But I told him to—well, never mind what I said. Probably not anything fit for your tender ears.”
Deacon found a frying pan and started enough bacon cooking for Ellie to have some, too. He wasn’t sure what the munchkin ate. Only knew that as long as he kept talking, she didn’t cry. Using goofball accents even earned him the occasional giggle.
“What are you doing?” As she marched toward him, wearing black booty shorts and a pink tank top, Ellie’s scowl matched her daughter’s. “You can’t hold her next to the stove. What if the bacon splatters?”
A SEAL's Secret Baby Page 4
