Don't Let Go

by Marliss Melton

  “Jordan,” said Solomon on a peremptory note. “I’m pulling into port today. Stop avoiding my calls and call me back. I want to talk to you.” Impatience had clearly gotten the better of him.

  With a firming of her mouth, Jordan deleted the message and dropped the phone in her purse. “You’re forgetting your manners, Solomon,” she muttered.

  If she called him back, he would demand to know why she was avoiding him. He would hound her until she blurted the truth. And then what? She’d either have to listen to him accuse her of lying to him, or he would do the noble thing and ask her to marry him. Either outcome would bring its share of heartache. She wanted him to marry her because he loved her, not out of some obligation to their unborn child, a child that—most likely—would never survive.

  Leaning into the car, she buckled Miguel into his booster seat. “At least I’ve got you,” she whispered, kissing his cheek. She just wished she could have everything her heart desired and needed to be truly happy.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Solomon hurled his duffel bag into Sean Harlan’s truck bed, got in the passenger side, and slammed the door.

  “What the hell put a burr up your ass?” Sean demanded from behind the wheel.

  Solomon cranked the window down, but it was almost as hot outside as it was in the cab. He was also steaming mad. “The woman won’t return my calls,” he growled. He’d left dozens of call back numbers, and she hadn’t bothered dialing a single one of them. “Something’s going on with her, and I don’t know what the hell it is.”

  “Have you told her you love her yet?” Sean drawled, flicking him a wry look as he turned the key. The engine gave a throaty roar.

  Solomon glowered at him. “She knows I love her,” he retorted. “I took on a battalion of the Elite Guard to get the kid back, didn’t I?”

  With a shake of his bald head, Sean drove them away from the terminal at NAS Oceana. They were finally home, after a week at sea, training with regular Navy personnel aboard the carrier Teddy Roosevelt. “You don’t know much about women, do you?” he lamented.

  Solomon opened his mouth to deliver a caustic retort. But his assertion that women were all grasping, ambitious creatures like Candace didn’t apply at all to Jordan, who was loyal, passionate, and generous to a fault. She was also ridiculously stubborn for holding out on him. “Oh, and you do?” was the only comeback he could summon.

  Sean’s response was a low, satisfied chuckle. “Yes, I do.”

  “So, that’s the answer, is it, Romeo?” Solomon mocked sarcastically. “I just tell her that I love her.”

  “It’s that simple,” Sean said with a nod. “You do that, and the dominos will all fall into place.”

  Solomon sent him a suddenly suspicious frown. “You’d better not play that game with Ellie Stuart,” he warned.

  “Her?” Sean looked incredulous. “Hell no. You know I don’t date women with kids.”

  “She’s been through hell as it is,” Solomon added, recalling Ellie’s spare trailer home with a shudder.

  “Enough said,” Sean retorted with a stern look that made Solomon close his mouth abruptly.

  He turned his head to glower out the window. How would Jordan respond to a declaration of love? he wondered. And was that really all she needed to hear? His heart tripped over itself in its haste to find out. “Can’t you drive this piece of shit any faster?” he snapped at Harley. “I haven’t seen Silas in over a week,” he added, disguising his real reason for wanting to get home.

  Sean gunned the accelerator, flinging his passenger against the seat. “Be honest with yourself, Mako,” he shouted over the wind rushing through the window, “you haven’t been laid in over a week.”

  Graham’s job was to muck the barn in advance of his mother’s homecoming. He finished well before noon, left his boots in the mudroom and went to gauge the progress in the nursery. Aunt Jordan was painting the trim white, to offset the peach-colored walls. Rafe was putting together the crib for the baby. He looked up as Graham sidled into the doorway.

  “I’m done,” Graham announced.

  Rafe glanced at his watch. “Would you like to come to the hospital with me to pick them up?”

  “Is there something else I can do?” Graham asked, unwilling to afflict his ears with opera music.

  Aunt Jordan looked up from the baseboard. “You can babysit Agatha and Miguel,” she suggested with an innocent smile. He could hear Agatha in her bedroom, dressing Miguel up in her play clothes.

  Graham grimaced. “I’ll go with you,” he said to Rafe, braced for aural torture.

  “Pick a station,” Rafe offered, as they cruised down the driveway en route to the hospital several minutes later.

  “You mean, like, my kind of music?”

  “Show me what you like,” confirmed the agent with a nod.

  Graham tuned into a light rock station, avoiding the heavy metal that he sometimes listened to. He settled back into his seat, aware of a certain tension in the car as the Lexus flew along the country road.

  “Do you think she’ll notice the front porch?” Rafe inquired. He struck Graham as nervous.

  “Maybe not right away,” Graham decided. They’d fixed the listing porch together yesterday, jacking it up with cinder blocks and trimming the foundation with latticework. “But she will eventually.”

  The tension was barely alleviated by the thrum of a guitar and the hum of tires.

  Rafe spoke up again. “I wanted to show you something,” he said, drawing his wallet from his back pocket. He flipped it open, revealing photographs inside, and handed the wallet to Graham.

  “That’s my oldest son, Tito,” he said, in a voice that roughened perceptibly. “He was your age when he died.”

  Graham looked into the dark, intelligent eyes in the photograph and felt pressure on his chest. His mother had mentioned that Rafe’s children were all killed by the goons of the notorious mob boss, Tarantello. Graham hadn’t quite believed her.

  “The next picture is Serena, my daughter. She was eight.”

  Serena’s mischievous smile reminded Graham of Agatha.

  “And that’s Emanuel.”

  The curly-haired tot looked like one of those babies that made you smile. “Mom said that they were all shot,” he ventured, with a quick glance.

  “They were,” Rafe confirmed, gravely. “By men who worked for the mafia.”

  Graham didn’t know what to say to that. It was too awful to conceive.

  “I thought that God had turned his back on me,” Rafe finally added, his voice more gravelly than ever.

  Graham stared down at the pictures and drew a hidden breath. That was how he felt sometimes.

  “I know what it’s like to lose the ones you love, like someone punched a hole in your heart. I wished, so many times, that I had died with them.”

  Tears stung Graham’s eyes, blurring the photographs.

  “I could never take your father’s place, Graham,” the agent added, gently. “I wouldn’t even want to try. But you and I have something in common. We both love your mother very much.”

  Graham looked up, blinking furiously. Suddenly he knew where this was going, and he wasn’t ready for it.

  “You’ve been part of your mother’s life for fourteen years,” Rafe added. “That’s much longer than I have known her. That’s why I want this to be your decision. If you don’t think you can share her right now, then I will wait until you’re eighteen. But if there’s room for the two of us, I’d like to marry her now, to help her with the ranch, to help her with Agatha and the baby. And to be a friend to you, if you would allow me to.”

  Graham closed the wallet and handed it back. Turning his head, he gazed out the window at the dark green trees filtering the August sun. As a fellow cop, his father would have thought that Rafe was a hero for what he’d done. He wasn’t such a bad guy, really. They’d shared a couple laughs jacking up the front porch yesterday.

  But all he had to do was picture his mother’s
face lighting up when Rafe stepped into her hospital room, and he knew, with dwindling resentment, that they—her children—weren’t enough. She deserved the love and support of a husband, a partner in life. Agatha and Angel needed a father. And Graham supposed he could always use a friend.

  He sent Rafe a sidelong, considering look.

  “It’s up to you,” Rafe repeated.

  “Would you teach me some Italian cursewords?” Graham asked, looking for personal profit.

  Rafe pursed his lips, considering. “Fair enough,” he conceded. “Just don’t say them around your mother.”

  “Okay, then,” said Graham. “You can marry her.”

  A smile of relief transformed the agent’s face, making him look ten years younger. “Thank you.” He stuck out a hand for Graham to shake.

  “It’s like this,” Graham said, showing him how the cool kids shook hands.

  “Ah,” said Rafe, practicing. “Do you want to see the ring?” he asked, confirming Graham’s guess that he was nervous. He opened a compartment on his dashboard and handed him a velvet box.

  “Whoa,” breathed Graham, cracking it open. “What are the green stones on the sides?”

  “Peridots, the baby’s birthstone.”

  “That’s cool.” It struck him that Rafe would be the only father baby Angel ever knew. And yet, his father had planted the seed. So he was still part of the whole. How weird was that?

  He supposed he’d get used to it. Like they’d assured him at grief camp, it took time for changes to feel familiar. At least he didn’t feel like God had abandoned them completely. There was hope for healing.

  Silas sat on his knees on Ellie’s couch, gazing out the window as Caleb played beside him with a Matchbox car. He drove it up Silas’s elbow, over his shoulders, and down his other arm, stepping over Silas in the process. “You’re in the way,” he pointed out.

  Silas wasn’t moving till his daddy got home. Aunt Ellie said she thought he’d be back today.

  Sure was taking him a long time to get here. This morning they’d been to the beach. They’d had ravioli for lunch, and Silas had eaten so much that his stomach bulged, but he still felt empty inside from waiting so long. It was fun playing with his cousins, but he was ready to go home now.

  Home, he thought, musing over the word. I live on a houseboat with my daddy. He can hold his breath under the water forever. I’m gonna do that, too, when I’m bigger.

  He couldn’t wait to go home. He hoped Jordan would be there. Aunt Ellie said she didn’t know if Jordan would be. Who would watch him if she wasn’t? He liked Jordan. Her hair smelled like strawberries. He even liked it when she hugged him close and said, Great job! though he pretended not to.

  A car swung into the driveway, and Silas jerked his chin off of the windowsill. But it wasn’t Daddy.

  The glare on the windshield kept the driver hidden till the car door opened and Jordan got out. Silas’s heart jumped up, and he sprang off the couch and ran for the door. “Aun’ Ellie!” he shouted. “Jordan’s here.”

  He struggled with the lock on the door till Ellie got there and helped him. “Easy, Silas,” she warned.

  He dove out the door and ran into Jordan, throwing his arms around her waist. A shoe bumped him in the head, and he looked up, realizing she had a little boy in her arms.

  “You found Miguel,” Ellie exclaimed, sounding surprised and pleased.

  “Sure did. Hi, Silas.” Jordan smiled down at him, her pretty eyes crinkling at the corners. She pulled him against her and squeezed him hard. “I’ve missed you, big guy! How’s it going?”

  “Okay.” Silas was assessing Miguel. He didn’t look at all like he’d pictured. “He’s sure small,” he volunteered.

  “Come on in,” urged Ellie. “It’s hot as blazes out there.”

  Jordan steered Silas back inside. In the living room, she went down on her knees, putting Miguel on his feet. The boy hung on tightly to her neck and wouldn’t let go.

  “Everyone, this is Miguel,” Jordan announced, letting him cling.

  Christopher wandered up, and Caleb stopped driving his car long enough to stare hard at the stranger. Colton started belly-crawling toward them.

  Silas looked into Miguel’s dark eyes and wondered why he looked so afraid. He dropped to the floor to see his face better. “You’re sure small,” he said again.

  “He’s only four,” said Jordan.

  Silas looked him over. Small and skinny. “Can he talk?” he asked.

  “He’ll talk when he’s ready,” Jordan reassured him, reaching out to stroke the top of his head like she sometimes did, her eyes growing wet.

  “Don’t cry,” Silas said in alarm.

  “I’m just happy,” she replied, with a smile that warmed his insides.

  Colton had dragged himself across the room on his elbows, drawing Miguel’s interest as he groped for the little boy’s shoelaces and tugged them toward his mouth.

  “Silly baby,” Jordan said.

  Miguel reached over and softly touched Colton’s yellow hair.

  “He likes babies, huh?” Silas deduced.

  “And big kids, too,” Jordan reassured him.

  “How ’bout cars,” said Silas, pulling a shiny red hot rod out of his shorts pocket. Miguel regarded it with interest but didn’t try to take it.

  “I hope he likes books,” said Silas, remembering that he had news to share. “Hey, I can read now!”

  Jordan gasped her amazement. “You can?”

  “Yep. Wanna see?”

  “Of course, I do. Let’s sit down, Miguel. Silas is going to read to us.”

  Happy as he’d ever been, Silas bounded to the attached playroom and pulled his favorite book from the bookshelf.

  With Silas seated snugly against her, stammering his way through Where the Wild Things Are, and Miguel in her lap watching him covertly, Jordan experienced contentment and relief, at last.

  Silas was happy, and Miguel was going to be okay, she told herself. Recovery was a process, made possible with the help of the best child’s psychologist in the area.

  As for her pregnancy and her relationship with Solomon, she’d just take life one day at a time and see what happened. But she wasn’t holding out for a miracle.

  The rumble of an engine caused Caleb to leap onto the couch to look out the window. “Mr. Sean’s here!” he announced, excitedly.

  “Oh, Lord,” Jordan heard Ellie exclaim from the bathroom she was painting. She appeared at the door pulling a paint-speckled bandana off her head. “I swear, that man has got the worst timing.” She opened the door and flicked Jordan a look of concern. “Silas, your papa’s here, too,” she announced.

  “Daddy!” Silas exclaimed, dropping the book to race for the door.

  Jordan’s mouth went dry. Her heart started to gallop, her palms turned moist. Here goes, she thought, braced for anything.

  She came to her feet, drawing Miguel up with her. Something told her that Solomon wasn’t going to wait to settle this quietly, later. The sound of his voice as he greeted his son, giving Silas all the love that he deserved, made her insides jitter.

  Sean Harlan was the first to step inside. “Caught you workin’ again,” he observed, giving Ellie a quick once-over as he wiped his feet on the doormat.

  “Just paintin’ the bathroom,” she muttered, edging behind the door.

  “Ma’am, how are you?” Sean added, sending Jordan what was clearly a sympathetic grimace as he headed toward the boys. “Hey, fellas,” he exclaimed, as they jumped up and down and shouted his name. With a bearlike growl, he tackled both Christopher and Caleb and bore them to the rug.

  A shadow appeared at the doorway, and there was Solomon, holding Silas on one arm, still wearing his battle dress uniform. He directed what was meant to be a pleasant smile at Miguel, who gripped Jordan harder. “We need to talk,” he said, skewering her with his silvery eyes. He put Silas on his feet and whispered something in his ear. With a grin, the boy shot across the room to jo
in the ongoing melee.

  Jordan drank in every feature of Solomon’s suntanned face. How she’d missed him! “I’m watching the boys,” she demurred. She wasn’t ready for this.

  Sean Harlan lay flat on the floor, dangling the baby and making him squeal. “Don’t drool on me,” he pleaded.

  “Harley will watch them,” Solomon insisted. “Why don’t you step outside with me?”

  Jordan swallowed hard. “Miguel won’t let me go.” But, to her surprise, Miguel squirmed out of her arms to lie down next to Silas, who wanted to see the baby from Sean’s perspective. The SEAL roared with mock horror as a string of drool started its descent.

  Solomon stalked into the house, grabbed Jordan’s hand, and pulled her inexorably outside. He led her across the grass, into the shade of a big oak tree, where it wasn’t so hot.

  She tried to jerk free. “Solomon, you can’t order me around like some—” He swung her around, put her back against the wide trunk, caught her chin, and kissed her hard, cutting her off midsentence.

  Jordan braced herself. The magic, the animal instinct to mate, whatever horrible phrase he’d once called it, was as potent as ever. Desire spiraled through her, drugging and confusing her, till she was clutching him rather than pushing him away.

  “Jordan,” Solomon rasped, against her lips. “I have something to tell you.”

  “What?” she asked, realizing that for better or for worse, this man owned her heart. There was no pretending otherwise.

  “I was wrong,” he said, startling her by admitting something so unexpected. “What I feel for you isn’t biology, although there’s no denying that component,” he added, with a brief, lascivious grin that gave way to earnestness. “I love you,” he declared. “Not blindly. Not the way I thought I loved Candace. But as a man who can see just how beautiful and special you are, how much knowing you has enriched my life and Silas’s.” His voice grew husky and a sheen of tears made his eyes seem translucent.

  Jordan reeled. She opened her mouth to speak, couldn’t figure out where to start, and closed it again.

  Solomon’s ruddy countenance slowly paled. “You’re not saying anything,” he noted hoarsely.