Читать книгу The SEAL's Baby - Rogenna Brewer - Страница 11

OFFICERS’ CLUB NORTH ISLAND

Coronado, California

“WAITING FOR Lieutenant Commander Stanton?” Mike strode up to the lieutenant, impatiently cooling his heels at the curb outside the Officers’ Club.

“Sir. Yes, sir.” Spencer “Hollywood” Holden acknowledged Mike with a sharp salute, but he was trying too hard in Mike’s opinion. He still had a hard time believing the former child-star hadn’t joined the Navy as some sort of publicity stunt.

“Not anymore,” Mike said, returning the salute. “Dismissed, Lieutenant.”

“Sir?”

“Lend me the getup. Sword and gloves.”

Holden complied without question. Good thing, because Mike wasn’t in the mood for insubordination.

Stripped of his gear, Hannah’s co-pilot didn’t seem so Tom Cruise cocky. Which made up for Mike having to stretch the white gloves and let the belt out a notch. But both would do in a pinch.

Even without the added flash of his Full Dress medals, anyone could see by his ribbon résumé he was a highly decorated officer. A highly decorated officer making an ass of himself over a woman. Hell, he was in good company. For centuries men had waged entire wars over women. And Mike was in the mood for a fight.

Holden disappeared inside, and Mike took the lieutenant’s place curbside. Somewhere between Hannah’s abrupt departure and the drive over, he’d decided that if she had something to say to him, he wanted to hear it. Even if it was “Take your go-to-hell watch and shove it.”

He owed her that much at least.

Identifying the HCS-9 staff car by the Night Hawks flag as it pulled to the curb, he opened the door and offered his arm. “Spence—” she began, using him as leverage, only to be brought nose to shoulder board with his gold epaulet. She snatched her hand back as if from a snake. Once bitten, twice shy?

He tried not to take it personally; SEALs were called snake eaters, but never cold-blooded reptiles. Besides just her touch was enough to warm his blood.

“Sorry, not Holden,” he drawled. “Disappointed? And here I strapped on my sword just for you.” Or rather commandeered it.

“If I’d known, I would have worn my strap on.”

“Now that I’d like to see.”

“Then it’s too bad a lady has no need for a tempered-steel phallic symbol.”

That sounded more like the Hannah he knew and…missed. He let loose a hearty chuckle. How long had it been since he’d felt like laughing? How long had it been since they’d last exchanged banter? “From what I hear the lady created quite a stir arriving at the Change of Command Ceremony unescorted.”

“So they drafted you to be my handler?”

“This is an all-volunteer Navy.”

She raised a perfect eyebrow. “Speaking of volunteers, what have you done with Spence?”

“Ordered him to get lost.”

“Rank has its privileges?”

“Absolutely.”

That, and the green-eyed monster had reared its ugly head. Holden had been her co-pilot for at least the four years Mike had known her. He wasn’t so cynical that he believed men and women couldn’t be friends, but in his experience sex always got in the way.

More staff cars pulled up to the curb and he crooked his elbow. “Shall we?”

RHIP. His rank left her little choice but to accept his offered arm. She acquiesced, latching on to his biceps, and he measured his stride to hers. Although her legs were long and lovely, they weren’t as long as his.

The side boys opened the double doors.

“Ladies first,” he insisted, pressing a hand to the small of her back to keep that contact as he guided her toward the cloakroom.

Once inside, they removed their headgear and gloves, or in his case Holden’s, securing them inside their covers. Hannah handed them off to the hatcheck girl while Mike removed the scabbard and exchanged the ensemble for the ticket.

“Separate tickets, please,” Hannah insisted, fluffing out her hair.

“If you insist.”

“I insist.”

The hatcheck girl was riveted by their conversation. Mike took the second ticket but didn’t offer it to Hannah right away.

“I have three hundred guests waiting,” she prompted.

“Before your mother and sister came along, you were about to say something….”

“Mike, not here.” She glanced at the girl behind him and cleared her throat. “Given the fact we’ll be working together, I think we should keep it strictly professional.”

He didn’t care about the girl, but Hannah was lucky. The next wave of guests entered the building, leaving him little choice but to respect her wishes. “If that’s what you want.”

“That’s what I want.”

That’s not what her eyes were saying as they held his gaze and wouldn’t let go. Or maybe he was the one who couldn’t let go. “Why didn’t you tell me your father was a Navy SEAL?”

“You’ve been talking to my mother. What’s there to tell? I barely remember him.”

“I’m sorry, Han.” He didn’t even know what he was apologizing for—her father’s death, his own disappearing act, or both. How could he explain his fear of hurting her when that’s exactly what he’d done?

“Are we through with apologies?”

“I guess we are. And since we’re being so PC, Commander, I’ll expect a formal call at your earliest convenience.” He had no intention of letting this conversation go.

“Fine. May I have the ticket, please? I’m a big girl and can make it to the party on my own. I’ll call you if I need an escort, Commander.”

Ouch! He handed over the ticket, more than ready to abandon his duty. But he couldn’t let her go in there unarmed. “Han, word of advice for getting along with these guys. If you’re going to rock the boat, think gentle waves.”

POSITIONED NEXT TO Captain Loring, behind the giant sheet cake with the Night Hawks logo, Hannah mustered a smile for the camera.

Think gentle waves and rocking boats.

Capsized was more like it. Seeing McCaffrey today had turned hers upside down. There was something she wanted to tell him, but couldn’t without rocking several boats.

The enlisted Photographer’s Mate snapped the photo capturing her frown. “One more of the two of you cutting the cake,” he insisted.

Loring dipped his sword into the first slice as they both held on to the handle. “I don’t see your mother, Hannah?”

Hannah cast a sidelong glance at the man just as the photographer took his next snapshot. “Hold for one more,” he said again.

If she didn’t manage a smile, they’d be here all day.

“She’s driving over with my sister and the baby in our car. It’s easier than switching Fallon’s car seat back and forth.”

“Will your mother be in the San Diego area long?”

“Until the end of next week.”

“Maybe she’ll have time for dinner with an old friend.” He smiled into the camera.

Her mom and Captain Loring? Friends? Now that would take some getting used to. A slower, less certain smile spread across Hannah’s face. “Maybe.”

“Got it!” the photographer said.

Before the polite applause ended, she found herself searching the O Club for her mother and sister. “Sammy! Over here!” Hannah waved her through the door of the crowded banquet room. “Where’s Fallon?”

“Fallon’s cranky. Mom had me drive them home.”

“Oh.” Hannah quickly hid her disappointment. With McCaffrey here maybe it was for the best. “I should go, too.”

At home she could look into her daughter’s eyes, where the reason for keeping father and daughter apart made sense. She didn’t want to hurt either of them. But it was a decision already causing her pain.

“No way, this is your big day. Besides, you promised to introduce me to Spencer Holden. I’ve only been in love with him forever.”

Like every other groupie.

Holden had caused quite a stir when he’d walked away from the fame and fortune of Hollywood to enroll in an Ivy League college. A few years later he’d walked into a Navy recruiting office. The paparazzi still followed him around as if he were Elvis.

At first Hannah had found it all amusing, but it soon became annoying. And now her own sister had joined the ranks of the starstruck.

Sammy leaned back against the bar and surveyed the room. “Wow! Are all these guys single?”

“Not all.” Hannah was too jaded not to see past a well-cut uniform—with one exception of course, and he seemed to have disappeared. Finally she could relax. Except Sammy had that kid-in-a-candy-store look that made Hannah want to rush her sister from the O Club before she bit into the goodies.

“Excuse me, Lieutenant Commander Stanton.” Lieutenant Russell Parish, her Executive Officer squeezed through the crowd and came toward them.

“Yes, Russ, what is it?” He stopped next to Sammy, who had eyes only for Spence and every other pilot out on the dance floor.

“Ma’am.” Russ acknowledged Sammy as he reached across her to hand Hannah his calling card.

Sammy shifted her gaze to give Russ the once-over, but dismissed the crew-cut pilot for other more appealing eye candy.

Russ was too well mannered to take offense. “When would you like me to come calling, ma’am?” This time the “ma’am” was directed at Hannah.

“Why don’t I have my social secretary call you?”

Parish’s eyes skittered to her sister, but he didn’t so much as smile. “Yes, ma’am.” He spared another “ma’am” and a nod to Sammy before he moved away.

“What a geek,” Sammy said when he was out of earshot.

Privately Hannah agreed, but he was a geek who followed protocol. She handed Sammy the card. “There are going to be more of these.”

“Give me a break. I’m not drop-dead gorgeous. I’m not tall. Or thin. Or you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. Forget it.”

Sammy had put on the freshman fifteen in college. Then another as she’d settled into teaching at the elementary level. And another during a rotten relationship that had been a blessing in disguise for Hannah and Fallon—Sammy’s need to “get away” had coincided with Hannah’s need for a nanny— But Hannah had never realized until now that the highs and lows in her sister’s life were marked by weight gain. Or that her sister might be unhappy about that.

Hannah gave her sister a squeeze. “I think you’re beautiful.”

“Just what every gal wants to hear,” Sammy said, but she squeezed back.

“Regardless, there will be more of these. Squadron Officers have to call on the new CO.” She softened the blow to Sammy’s ego with a smile.

“Back up, you’re saying they have to call on you?”

“It gives me a chance to talk with them one-on-one.” Just like she had a duty to call on her superiors. As McCaffrey had been so quick to point out, she’d only managed to put off the inevitable confrontation. From here on out they moved in the same social and professional stratosphere. Avoiding him was out of the question.

At least she had the lunch with Lu to look forward to. Officers’ wives tended to exclude female officers from their circles, but then so did their husbands. Rarely did she experience the day-to-day camaraderie her male counterparts relished.

With the exception of her co-pilot, fellow pilots were respectful but guarded around her. Like her XO. Which was fine. She wasn’t interested in anything but a professional relationship with them. She should have extended her rule to include the SEALs they shuttled. Of course she’d never felt the need for such a rule before.

“So we’re going to have a parade of single guys over for dinner?”

“It doesn’t have to be dinner.”

“Are you kidding? I love to cook,” Sammy said with a cat-that-swallowed-the-canary grin.

“Sammy, do not consider my command your personal dating service.”

Her sister fanned herself with Parish’s card. “I think I’m going to like being your nanny, Hannah.”

“DRINKING ALONE? And before noon?” Admiral Bell pulled up a stool next to Mike.

“You know I take my drinking seriously.” Mike automatically checked his bare wrist, then dug out the watch from his pocket. “Besides, it’s after noon.”

By six seconds.

And sitting at this bar kept him out of the main banquet hall. Out of sight, out of mind. Yeah, right.

At least the lights and the music were lower in here, which suited his mood.

“Nice watch,” Warren commented as Mike strapped his shackle back on. “Since when do commanders make more than admirals?”

“It was a gift.”

“Nice gift. Chase-Durer, the military pilot’s watch of choice.” Warren picked up on details like that. Mike could only imagine the conclusions the man had already drawn. “How long after you received the gift before you started running?”

Mike snorted back a half laugh. Warren knew him too well. “I started running before,” he admitted.

“You must have really liked this one.” Leaving Mike to sort out his conflicting thoughts on the subject, the admiral ordered a rye. “A double. And another round for the Commander here,” he said to the bartender, even though Mike was still nursing his first beer.

He did like Hannah. That was the problem.

After their drinks were lined up, the admiral dispensed with the small talk. “I saved you a seat. What happened?”

“Got back late from San Clemente.”

“So I heard. Something about a case of ouzo exchanging hands.” Warren nodded in the direction of a young airman.

“What the hell?” Mike watched said case go by on the shoulder of the enlisted man. “Tell Norton I’m going to kick his ass if he pulls a stunt like that again,” Mike called after the kid. The airman stepped up his pace and Mike had no doubt the message would be delivered to HCS-5 along with the B. Stefanouris. “So that’s how she did it.”

“Which is beside the point. What the hell were you doing on S.C.I. to begin with? I told you to have your team stand down.”

“We were standing down.”

Despite Warren’s bluster, the admiral had been kept apprised of Mike’s whereabouts. And Mike had kept up with the more mundane tasks of being a Commanding Officer.

“I know the demons driving you, Mac. Maybe you don’t want a break, but your men deserve one.”

“I gave them the option. They volunteered for SCI.”

Warren set down his drink. “With everything hanging over their heads right now, I guess I can’t blame them.”

Mike scrubbed a weary hand over his face. “We lost two good men last time out. Then came home and—” he shook his head because he still couldn’t quite believe it “—now Nash is accused of killing his pregnant wife in some posttraumatic-stress-disorder episode.”

“There was an eyewitness. The sister-in-law—”

“Nash didn’t kill his wife.” Mike defended his men as hotly as they fought for him in battle. “But he’s being called a monster and looking at life from behind bars while his newborn son fights for his.”

“Kenneth Nash had his day in court, Mac.”

And thankfully still had a few appeals to run through. “Nash is—” Mike shrugged off the present tense he’d been about to use and replaced it with the past “—was one of the few married men on my team. The others are scared of the fear they see in their wives’ eyes. And the rest of us don’t even have that much to go home to.” Thank God. Mike swiveled to look at Warren. “Trust me to know what’s best for my team.” And right now that was keeping them busy.

The eyewitness was wrong. Nash would have come to him if he’d thought he was losing it. Because of their ingrained buddy system, SEALs had a low rate of PTSD. They served as a team. They went into ops together and they came out together. Homecomings were quiet affairs, and while home they were each other’s support system.

The other services were just now learning this.

But what if Mike was wrong? What if Nash had lost it?

Wasn’t he himself on edge? Feeling unsettled?

“All right, Mac. You win. But since you can’t show up on time and without ants in your pants I’ve decided that instead of Team One, I’m sending your team to Nevada to work with the new Commander of HCS-9.”

“Are you shittin’ me?”

“You have a problem with that?”

“Other than I’d rather donate another pint of blood to the Middle East, none at all.” Telling the admiral his problem with the Commander wasn’t an option. So he sucked it up and polished off his beer.

Warren stirred his drink, clinking the ice against the glass. “You know her old man was a SEAL.”

Mike nodded. Rosemary Stanton had said as much. She’d also told him her husband had died on a training op. After ’Nam. But that was all the information she’d volunteered. Maybe that was all she knew.

Training op was often code for undisclosed mission. Like the Shadow War in Laos that started before and ended after Vietnam.

It sure as hell wasn’t a two-week boondoggle in Nevada.

“What was he like?”

“Van Stanton?” The admiral looked thoughtful as he tapped into his memories. “Wide receiver for the U of Wisconsin-Oshkosh Titans. Nationally ranked player. Good, but not good enough. Instead of being drafted into the NFL he was drafted into the Navy. Though I don’t remember him as being the type to look back on what might have been.”

“That wasn’t my question.”

“He was a lot like you, Mac. One hundred and ten percent in the game. Whether that game was football or shadow ops.”

Mike cursed under his breath. It wasn’t what he’d wanted to hear, but it was what he needed to know. He glanced across the bar and had to do a double take. Hannah was doling out cash to the bartender, probably for the case of B. Stefanouris.

Calypso’s signature drink. She wanted rid of him that bad, huh? She caught sight of him and returned his bold stare. He raised his beer in salute. She nodded, but without that teasing light in her eyes he’d grown accustomed to seeing over the years. Was he responsible for putting that light out?

Why had she wanted him in the first place?

And why was he driving himself crazy wanting her? He’d been the one to walk, or rather run. Coward.

Warren’s gaze followed. “Trust me to know what’s best for my Teams.” He threw Mike’s words back at him, emphasizing the plural. “You’re going to Nevada. Whatever’s between the two of you, get it worked out. You have two weeks.”

Mike knew better than to argue with subtle suggestions that passed for bona fide orders. Warren whipped out his wallet and enough bills to cover the tab. “Do the right thing, Mac.”

“PINCH ME so I know I’m not dreaming,” Sammy said.

They’d arrived home that evening with a stack of calling cards. Hannah turned the key in the lock and pushed the door open. “You’re dreaming.”

“I don’t know. Mr. and Mrs. Spencer Holden has a nice ring to it, don’t you think? Or is that Lieutenant and Mrs. Spencer Holden?”

“Don’t start sending out the invitations just yet.” Sammy had managed to corner Spence. The pair had danced a couple of times. But she failed to acknowledge that he’d danced with every other female in the room. Except Hannah, who’d politely refused.

“A girl can window-shop, can’t she?”

Hannah flipped on the light switch in the entry hall. “That depends. For the dress or the man? With the right shoes a little black number can do wonders. But you don’t need a man to make you whole. You know that, don’t you?”

“I may not need him, but I want him,” Sammy said, missing the point entirely. “Besides if he doesn’t want me, there’s always one of these guys.” She rattled off a couple names. Then stopped at one card. “That Marine, Hunter, wasn’t half-bad—he really stood out in a room full of sailors. And of course, Parish,” she said with a snort, having reached the bottom of the pile. “Did you notice his receding hairline? I give the guy ten years tops before he’s a total cue ball.”

“Some men look good bald.”

“He’s not one of them.”

“Don’t go screwing with my XO’s head—” Hannah hung her purse on a peg near the door, but stopped in the middle of removing her jacket. The house remained unusually quiet except for the soft sound of someone crying.

“Mom?” Hannah called out as she ran through the bare living room and up the stairs toward her own bedroom and the baby’s Portacrib. When she entered, Fallon was sound asleep. Her mother sat in a dark corner, rocking the single chair in the room and hugging the flag.

Hannah knew those private tears too well. She wanted to tell her mother it was okay to cry. But she knew her mother wouldn’t think so.

“Mom, it’s okay to talk about him.” I want to talk about him. “I know you must miss him.” I miss him, too.

But I’m afraid I can’t remember him.

Please, help me remember him.

“I’m fine,” her mother said, blotting her eyes with a perfectly folded tissue. Because her mother did everything perfectly. One fold for every blow. Which was exactly three times. Then dry eyes and a stiff upper lip. “It’s just being back here after all these years. Everything is the same, and so different.”

Hannah sat down on the window seat, ignoring the ocean view she’d paid such a pretty penny for. “Captain Loring asked why you weren’t at the reception. I didn’t realize you two knew each other.”

“You were probably too young to remember. But JJ and Liz were our neighbors when we lived in Navy Housing all those years ago. Of course, Liz is gone now, as well.”

“I don’t remember,” Hannah confessed. Those happy days were lost to her, locked up somewhere too painful to remember.