The Marine's Secret Daughter. Carrie Nichols

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СКАЧАТЬ times, her breathing labored. “What...are you...doing here?”

      He pulled the laundry basket away and, ignoring her gasped cries of protest, tossed it aside.

      “Hey, those towels were...clean.” She managed to get on her feet.

      He grabbed her arm to steady her. “Forget the laundry. Where’s your medicine?”

      God, she was prettier than he’d remembered—fantasized about—with curly red hair, green eyes with stunning flecks of hazel and gold, and thin, elegant hands, but her body now had the well-rounded curves of a woman. She dug into the pocket of her Red Sox hoodie, produced an inhaler and held it up.

      As he’d done in Afghanistan, he tried to bury everything to focus on the mission. But this was more than a mission. This was Meggie. He gentled his grip on her arm. “Why aren’t you using it?”

      She shook the L-shaped canister and winced. “Empty.”

      The musty air was thin and even he had the urge to cough. “Let’s get you upstairs and into some fresh air.”

      “Thanks.” Shoving the inhaler back into her pocket, she swayed. Her wheezing had increased and she grew paler by the minute, but she eyed the basket of laundry as if she meant to bring it upstairs, too.

      “I’ll get that later.” He studied her pale face, searching for a glimpse of the young woman he’d left behind, but this Meggie was all grown up, and her green eyes sparked with emotions he couldn’t decipher.

      She slapped her foot on the step just as another cough rattled through her and tipped backward, her arms flailing for the handrail.

      Riley braced her against his chest, and her head hit him square in the injured shoulder, but he smothered the groan before it escaped. She steadied herself and pulled away, shaking off his hold on her arms. Grabbing the handrail, she marched up the stairs, coughing with each step. He followed close enough to catch her if she faltered again.

      Upstairs he placed his hands on her shoulders and led her to the kitchen table, pulling out a chair with his foot. “Sit.”

      “I’m...” But she began coughing again and sank into the chair, one hand pressed flat against her chest, concern etched onto her face.

      He pointed a finger. “Sit. Stay.”

      Her head jerked back. “Roll...over? Play d-dead?”

      He grinned and she started to smile, but lost it to another cough. He threw open cupboards, impatient to find a glass. Finally locating one, he filled it with water and brought it to her, cupping her hands around it. “Drink this.”

      She made a noise that might have been a laugh or a cough. “What for?”

      Yeah, what was it for? He ran his hand through his hair and tugged on the short strands. “I had to do something. You’re...you’re—”

      “Trying...to breathe?” She raised her eyebrows, crinkling her forehead.

      His hands fisted with the need to shake some sense into her or cradle her close and never let her go, no matter what Liam McBride or anyone said. “Do you have another inhaler at your place?”

      When she shook her head, his chest squeezed in sympathy. From the moment he’d recognized Meg, he may as well have been in the blast zone from an improvised explosive device. His ears rang, his breath caught in his throat, his heart raced. Where was his battle calm? In an attempt to keep his hands to himself, he paced the small kitchen.

      “I...” She set the untouched water on the table, her gaze shifting to a small purse on the counter.

      How had he missed that? He grabbed the purse. “Do you have another inhaler in here?”

      She shook her head. “Phone.”

      “Phone?” he echoed.

      “To call the pharmacy...” She stood but swayed and grabbed the back of the chair before reaching for the purse he had in his hand. “For a refill.”

      “Meg, please. Sit down.” He stepped toward her, but she waved him off. “That could take too long.”

      “I’ll be okay in a minute.” She pressed a hand to her chest.

      “We shouldn’t take that chance.” He pulled his keys out of his pocket. “I’m taking you to the ER.”

      “No, really... I...” Her voice trailed off as she began gasping for air, struggling to keep upright.

      “I’m done asking. Now I’m ordering.” Riley put his hand under her elbow and gave her no choice. “My truck. Now.”

      She pulled out of his grasp. “I can...walk.”

      Whoa. Obviously while gaining those womanly curves, she’d lost that youthful attraction for him, but that was okay. For once something other than combat was getting his blood pumping.

      * * *

      Reality, meet Meg. Meg, meet reality.

      This was not how her first meeting in over five years with Riley Cooper was supposed to happen. In her imagination, she was all sexy in a little black dress and killer heels after a relaxing spa day. Yeah, right; she’d spent the day cleaning and probably looked like Nick Nolte’s mug shot. So not fair! Riley was supposed to be breathless and falling at her feet, not vice versa. Stupid, stupid asthma. Another twenty minutes and she would’ve been home, not making embarrassing wheezing and whistling noises in front of him.

      In the cellar, Meg had thought Riley was a hallucination brought on by her oxygen-starved brain, but it hadn’t taken long for her to see he was swoon-worthy flesh and blood. Riley had this whole bad-boy persona going on, with close-cropped military hair, Hollywood stubble and chiseled cheeks. What was he doing in Loon Lake? Last she knew, he was in Afghanistan. Her stomach clenched. Why had he returned?

      Meg plodded toward the front door. Was it lack of oxygen or his presence making her dizzy? A million questions flitted around in her head like horseflies in spring. Forget curiosity. Giving him the third degree was out of the question until she could speak in full sentences. Another round of coughing left her light-headed. Damn, fresh air wasn’t helping. She rubbed her chest, hoping to ease the new tightness settling there and chase away the black spots dancing around the edges of her vision. Every time she tried to draw in a deeper breath, the cough started again and the cycle repeated. She’d wanted to argue some more, but she could expend effort on one thing and she chose breathing.

      Riley brushed past her and opened the front door.

      “Wait and I’ll help you into the truck.” He turned back to lock the door.

      A shiny black Ford F-150 hulked in the driveway. Great, how am I supposed to climb into that beast? “I’ll manage.”

      He grunted and swept past, getting to the truck ahead of her. He opened the passenger door, swearing under his breath as he lifted a brown paper grocery bag off the seat. Glass bottles clinked as he turned, and she glanced into the bag. Bottles of Jack Daniel’s stared back. She choked on the bitter bile rising in her throat. Oh, God, Riley, no. Please. I don’t want Fiona to come home to...this.

      Meg СКАЧАТЬ