The Secret Son's Homecoming

by Helen Lacey

  Don’t miss The Cottages on Silver Beach

  by RaeAnne Thayne,

  available July 2018

  wherever HQN books and ebooks are sold!

  Copyright © 2018 by RaeAnne Thayne

  The Captain’s Baby Bargain

  by Merline Lovelace

  Chapter One

  “Helluva bash, Swish.”

  Captain Suzanne Hall, call sign Swish, acknowledged the compliment from her former squadron mate by raising the dew-streaked bottle that had come as a “beer-in-a-bag.” She’d never tried this Dutch import before. Then again, that was the whole point of the mystery bag.

  “Thanks, Dingo.”

  The ex-military cop tipped his beer to hers while keeping an arm looped around the shoulders of the woman next to him. Personally, Swish thought the hold was more possessive than cozy. With good reason. The moment Dingo had walked in with the long-legged, extremely well-endowed showgirl, every male in the place had locked onto her like a heat-seeking missile.

  To her credit, Chelsea Howard had ignored the goggle-eyed stares and only occasionally put up a hand to twirl a strand of her rainbow-hued hair. “I’ve never been to a place like this,” she commented as her gaze roamed the fun-and-games indoor-outdoor restaurant.

  Neither had Swish. Lively, laughing groups sat elbow-to-elbow at picnic tables or clustered around fire pits or swapped after-work horror stories with coworkers at high tops arranged in conversational squares. Others conducted raucous battles at miniature golf or bean-bag bingo or darts or skeeball. A four-piece band thumped out country-western crossover, carrying over the clink of cutlery and buzz of conversation. In a separate section well away from the happy-hour crowd, families enjoyed the same fun atmosphere. There was a third section, a glass-enclosed, sit-down, linen-on-the-table restaurant for those more serious about eating than fun and games.

  What made the whole complex so amazing, though, was the menu! Swish had almost drooled over the pictures online. Appetizers included pretzels and provolone fondue. Homemade chips with a deservedly world-famous onion dip. Cheddar and potato pierogis. BBQ pork belly nachos. Thai chili chicken wings. The dinner menu was equally exotic, but even without the rave reviews from previous guests, Swish had decided The Culinary Dropout was the perfect spot for this year’s Badger Bash.

  The annual Bash took place whenever two or more troops who’d served under Colonel Mike Dolan, call sign Badger, happened to be in the same general vicinity at the same time. Since Swish and two additional Badger protégées were currently stationed at Luke Air Force Base, located some miles to the west of Phoenix, they’d opted to hold the reunion here. Eight more of their former squadron mates had flown or driven in from other locales.

  And since the once stag-only Bash had expanded to include spouses and/or dates, Swish had insisted on adding some couth to the event. Or, at least, ramping it up from previous years’ venues. Like the New Orleans “gentlemen’s” club where the performers all turned out to be drag queens. And the wolf-and moose-head decorated bar in Minot, North Dakota, that they’d had to shovel their way out of after a late May blizzard. And the off-off-the-Strip Vegas lounge featuring really bad Dean Martin and Frank Sinatra wannabes. Then there was last year’s gathering at the Cactus Café, a smoke-filled dive on Albuquerque’s old Route 66.

  Although...even reeking of spilled beer and stale sweat, the Cactus Café had produced at least one unexpectedly happy surprise in the person of the brown-eyed blonde currently sitting across the table from Swish. At last year’s Bash, Alexis Scott had walked smack up to Major Ben Kincaid, call sign Cowboy, and offered him a fat wad of cash to marry her. Ben had turned down the money but accepted the proposal. And damned if he didn’t now act even more stupid about his wife than Dingo did about his showgirl. Of course, the fact that Alex was pregnant might have something to do with Ben’s goofy grin.

  “Where do you suppose they came up with the name Culinary Dropout?” Alex mused as she sipped her club soda and soaked up the ambiance.

  “No idea.” Swish speared a chunk of lobster from another appetizer, this one served in an old-fashioned glass canning jar. “Maybe the genius who created these succulent delights decided he didn’t need culinary instructors to unleash his artistry.”

  “If that’s the case, I agree with him!”

  “Yo, Dingo!” The call came from a sandy-haired communications officer seated near the middle of their long table. “You think you can still hit a target?”

  “Blindfolded and backwards,” the former military cop turned electronics engineer drawled.

  “With a bean bag?”

  “Blindfolded and...”

  “Ha!” His challenger clambered off his stool. “You’re on!”

  Chelsea went with Dingo to cheer him on. Hips rolling, her lithe body a symphony of long-legged grace, she once again popped half the eyes in the place out of their sockets.

  Alex noted her best friend’s impact on the crowd with a wry smile. Cowboy with unfeigned admiration. Swish with a sigh.

  “I wish I could believe it was the hair,” she murmured.

  “Trust me,” Alex answered with a laugh. “It’s not the hair. Or the legs or the boobs or that wicked smile. I roomed with the woman for two years before I left Vegas for Albuquerque. Chelsea is...”

  She circled a hand in the air a few times. Grinning, her husband supplied the answer.

  “Chelsea.”

  “Exactly. And now I have to pee,” she announced, easing off the high-backed stool. “Again. Good thing I didn’t go through all this the first time I became a mother. I might’ve thought twice about this pregnancy business.”

  Although that might’ve sounded strange to an outsider, everyone at the table knew Alex had adopted her deceased sister’s stepdaughter. Correction. She and Ben had adopted the seven-year-old. The little girl had subsequently charmed everyone in their wide circle of friends.

  “How is Maria?” Swish asked.

  “Smart. Stubborn. Independent. Developing an attention span that lasts about five seconds longer than your average flea.” Alex patted the mound of her tummy. “And sooo excited about having a baby sister or brother.”

  “You don’t know which yet?”

  “Don’t want to.”

  The smile she shared with her husband started a slow ache under Swish’s ribs, one she’d been so damned sure she’d finally vanquished.

  “That’s half the wonder,” Alex said softly. “Not knowing and being so totally in love with this little somebody anyway.”

  The ache lingered as Swish watched Alexis thread her way through the crowd toward the ladies’ room. Ben tracked his wife’s progress with a look that twisted the knife even more.

  Dropping her gaze, Swish poked a finger at the little pile of maple-roasted wannabe nuts on the napkin in front of her. The music and laughter and thunk of beanbags hitting targets faded. The strings of lights blurred as her thoughts narrowed, turned inward, and summoned the image of a face she knew as well as her own.

  Her husband had looked at her like Ben did his wife. Back when she’d had a husband.

  She played with the wannabe nuts as the memories crept in. Of she and Gabe growing up together in the same small Oklahoma town. Of how they’d progressed from fifth-grade puppy love to high school sweethearts to being an inseparable couple through all four years at the University of Oklahoma.

  They’d married the day after graduation. The same day they’d been commissioned as Air Force second lieutenants. Then spent the next five years juggling short-notice deployments, assignments to separate bases and increasingly strained long-distance communications. Their divorce had become final three years ago, on their sixth wedding anniversary.

  The hole in Swish’s heart was still there but shrinking a little more each day. That’s what she told herself, anyway, until Ben—who’d known them bot
h, had been friends with them both—took advantage of the band’s break between numbers to share a quiet confidence.

  “I talked to Gabe last week.”

  “Yeah? He call you or did you call him?”

  Dammit! She wished the words back as soon as they were out of her mouth. What difference did it make who initiated the conversation? Divorce was hard enough without expecting your friends to take sides and remain loyal to just one of the injured parties.

  “He called me.” Ben circled his beer on The Culinary Dropout’s distinctive coaster. When he looked up at her again, his blue eyes were shaded. “To tell me he’s thinking about getting married again.”

  Swish swallowed. Deep and hard. Then forced a shrug that felt as though it ripped the cartilage from her shoulder blades. “It’s been three years.”

  She dug deeper and managed a smile. “I’m surprised he’s held out this long. Last time I talked to my mom, she said every unattached female under sixty in our hometown was after him. Did Gabe mention which one snagged the prize?”

  “No.”

  “Oh, well. No matter, I guess.”

  Unless it’s Alicia Johnson.

  The nasty thought plowed into her head like a runaway troop carrier. Gritting her teeth, Swish jammed on the mental brakes. She had no right to question Gabe’s choice for a second trip down the aisle. Absolutely none! Even if Alicia was a pert, bubbly pain in the ass.

  “He called from California,” Ben was saying.

  “California? What’s he’s doing out there?”

  “Someone died. A great aunt, I think he said. He had to go out to settle her estate.”

  “Aunt Pat? Oh, no!”

  The regret was sharp, instant, and so, so painful. She’d lost more than Gabe in the divorce. She’d lost his family, as well. They’d sided with him, of course, after the ugly details surfaced. She didn’t blame them, but she’d missed his folks and his sisters and their families. And his feisty old aunt, who could spout the most incredibly imaginative oaths when the spirit moved her.

  “He’s driving back to Oklahoma from San Diego,” Ben related. “If the timing’s right, he might stop in Albuquerque to meet Alex and Maria. I told him we’d be home late tomorrow afternoon.” He paused, his eyes holding hers. “Unless something unexpected came up.”

  “Like me throwing a world class hissy fit about you consorting with the enemy?”

  “Is he? The enemy?”

  Her breath left on a sigh. “No, of course not. Gabe’s your friend, too. You don’t have to take sides or choose between us.” She hesitated several painful beats. “Did he, uh, ask about me?”

  “No.”

  Disgusted by the hurt that generated, Swish gave herself a swift, mental kick. For God’s sake! She was a captain in the United States Air Force. A combat engineer with two rotations to Iraq and one to Afghanistan under her belt. She’d built or blown up everything from runways to bridges. Yet here she was, moping like a schoolgirl who hadn’t been asked to the dance because her ex chose to get on with his life.

  “Well,” she said briskly, “if you and Gabe do connect in Albuquerque tomorrow, tell him I wish him the best.”

  “Will do.”

  “Great. Now why don’t we see how Dingo’s doing blindfolded and backward?”

  * * *

  As one of the organizers of this year’s Bash, Swish was among the last to leave when The Culinary Dropout finally closed its doors at 2:00 a.m. Even then, she provided taxi service to one of her buddies who’d flown in for the occasion.

  She hung with him at his hotel room for a while, sharing black coffee and memories of the legendary Special Ops colonel who’d spawned their annual Badger Bash. She’d worked for Colonel Dolan only once, when she was a brand-new second lieutenant. The colonel could blister the paint off you with a single glance and did not suffer fools gladly. But Swish had learned more about leadership and taking care of her troops from him than from any of her bosses since.

  Dawn was starting to streak the sky above the Superstition Mountains when she strolled out of the hotel and clicked the locks of the Thunderbird soft-top convertible she’d treated herself to when she got promoted to captain. She stood beside the merlot-colored sports car for a moment, breathing in the scent of honeysuckle and piñon while debating whether to put down the top.

  The fact that she was wearing the traditional Badger Bash “uniform of the day” decided her. The generally accepted attire included boots, jeans and T-shirts sporting whatever quirky message the attendees wanted to impart. Swish had opted for a black, body-sculpting tank with a whiskered, green-eyed tiger draped over one shoulder. It had been designed and handcrafted by Ben’s wife, who insisted the tiger’s eyes were the exact same jungle-green as Swish’s. The matching ball cap sported the same glittering black-and-gold-tiger stripes and caught her shoulder-length blond hair back into a ponytail. The perfect ensemble for tooling through a soft Arizona dawn, she decided.

  Mere moments later she had the top down and the T-bird aimed for the on-ramp to I-10. Luke AFB was a good thirty miles west of Scottsdale. The prospect of a long drive didn’t faze her. Having learned her lesson from previous Bashes, she’d arranged to have the rest of the weekend off. She could cruise through the dim, still-cool dawn, hit her condo, shower off the residue of the night and crash.

  But first, she realized after only about fifteen miles, she had to make a pit stop. She shouldn’t have downed that last cup of coffee, dammit. For another few miles she tried the bladder control exercises she’d resorted to while operating at remote sites with only the most primitive facilities.

  But when she spotted a sign indicating a McDonald’s at the next exit, she gave up the struggle. Flipping on the directional signal, she took the ramp for Exit 134. The iconic golden arches gleamed a little more than a block from where she got off.

  Unfortunately, a red light separated her from imminent relief. She braked to a stop and drummed her fingers on the wheel. She might’ve been tempted to run the light if not for the vehicle stopped across the deserted intersection. It was a pickup. One of those muscled-up jobbies favored by farmers and ranchers. Older than most, though. And vaguely familiar. Narrowing her eyes, she squinted and tried to see past the headlights spearing toward her in the slowly brightening dawn.

  Suddenly, her heart lurched. Stopped dead. Kicked back to life with a painful jolt.

  Locking her fists on the wheel, Swish gaped at the cartoon depicted on the pickup’s sloping hood. She recognized the needle-nosed insect dive-bombing an imaginary target. She should; she’d painted it herself.

  Her gaze jerked from the hood to the cab. The headlights’ glare blurred the driver’s features. Not enough to completely obscure them, however.

  Oh, God! That was Gabe. Her Gabe.

  Fragments of the conversation with Cowboy rifled through her shock. California. A funeral. Gabe driving home. Visiting with Cowboy and his wife in Albuquerque.

  Her precise, analytical engineer’s mind made the instant connection. Phoenix sat halfway between San Diego and Albuquerque. A logical place to stop for the night, grab some sleep, break up the long drive. The not-as-precise section of her brain remained so numb with surprise that she didn’t react when the light turned green. Her knuckles white, she gripped the wheel and kept her foot planted solidly on the brake.

  The pickup didn’t move, either. With no other traffic transiting the isolated intersection, the two vehicles sat facing each other as the light turned yellow, then red again. The next time it once again showed green, the pickup crossed the short stretch of pavement and pulled up alongside her convertible.

  The driver’s side window whirred down. A tanned elbow hooked on the sill. The deep baritone that used to belt out the hokiest ’50s-era honky-tonk tear-jerkers rumbled across the morning quiet.

  “Hey, Suze.”

  He’d never use
d her call sign in nonoperational situations. The military had consumed so much of their lives that Gabe wouldn’t let it take their names, too. That attitude, Swish reflected, was only one of the many reasons he’d left the Air Force and she hadn’t.

  She craned her neck, squinting up from her low-slung sports car. “Hey yourself, Gabe.”

  “I thought I was hallucinating there for a minute. What’re you doing in Phoenix?”

  “I live here. I’m stationed at Luke.”

  “Oh, yeah? Since when?”

  The fact that he didn’t even know where she lived hurt. More than she would ever admit.

  Swish, on the other hand, had subtly encouraged her mother to share bits of news about her former son-in-law’s life since he’d moved back to Oklahoma. Mary Jackson had passed on the news that the high school tennis team Gabe coached had won state honors. And she gushed over the fact that the voters of their small hometown elected him mayor by a landslide. Somehow, though, her mom had neglected to mention the fact that Cedar Creek’s mayor was getting married again.

  “I’ve been at Luke a little over four months,” Swish answered with as much nonchalance as she could muster, then let her gaze roam the dusty, dented pickup. “I see you’re still driving Ole Blue.”

  He unbent his elbow and patted the outside of his door. “I rebuilt the engine a last year. Spins like a top.”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  The memories didn’t creep in this time. They hit like a sledgehammer.

  Swish had surrendered her virginity in Ole Blue’s cab. Impatiently. Hungrily. Almost angrily. She’d teased and tormented Gabe until he finally toppled her backward on the cracked leather seat and yanked down her panties. Even then, as wild with hunger as they both were, he’d been gentle. For the first few thrusts. Once past the initial startled adjustment, Swish had picked up the rhythm and climaxed mere moments later, as though she’d only been waiting for his touch to ignite those white-hot sensations.

  She’d still been floating back to earth when he pulled out of her and started swearing. At himself. At her. At the incredible stupidity of what they’d just done. What if her parents found out he’d violated their trust as well as their daughter? What if he’d let himself come and gotten her pregnant! What about her scholarship to OU? The bridges she wanted to build. The exotic lands they both wanted to travel to!