Having The Soldier's Baby. Tara Quinn Taylor

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СКАЧАТЬ like a headboard. She’d hoped to find it that morning, to have a chance to make sure in person that it was easy enough for her to manipulate alone before she purchased it. And she wanted it in white. Or brown. Half of what she’d seen was gray. As popular as the color was apparently becoming in the home design world, she just couldn’t bring more gray into her life. And most particularly not into the nursery.

      It wasn’t until she’d pulled into her garage, pushed the button to close the door behind her, entered in through the kitchen and heard a knock on her front door that she thought of the car out front. A dark, expensive-looking sedan. In the back of her mind she’d figured it belonged to someone visiting the family across the street. The Bloomingtons had a lot of extended family, and an endless number of weekend get-togethers. They had a lovely backyard pool. Had invited her over a few times...

      Reaching for the front door handle, she wondered if the visit was just that—another Bloomington family invitation. It was June, soon to be July. Warm and sunny. Made sense they’d be having a pool party...

      Stopping just short of unlocking the door, she peered out the peephole.

      What?

      She knew the white dress uniform of the naval officer, thought maybe she recognized the female chaplain who accompanied him. And maybe the other guy looked familiar, too, a medical something or other. The team that had come within a day of Winston going missing two years before had looked eerily similar.

      With a sick feeling, she stood still for a moment. Even with a mental rundown of every loved one she could ever remember having, she couldn’t come up with someone they’d be there to tell her about. She’d already lost the only navy officer she’d ever loved.

      Were they there about the baby? Winston’s heir? No. She shook her head. That made no sense. But thinking of the small life inside her gave her the strength to straighten up and open the door.

      “I’m Senior Chief Petty Officer Greg Hall...” The man introduced himself and the chaplain and medic with him. She stood frozen. “May we come in?”

      Standing back, she let them enter, closed the door, showed them to the couch in the living room. Two years before, she’d brought them to the dining room table. And had had trouble eating at the table for weeks after they’d left.

      She didn’t use the living room much anymore. She was always in her office, where she had a comfortable lounger and television, or going to bed, when she was at home.

      That would change, though. Now that she was going to be a family.

      And then it hit her.

      “I already got the letter,” she said, before Officer Hall could do more than settle on the edge of the chair across from them. “I know Winston’s been proclaimed dead.”

      “That’s what we need to speak with you about, Mrs. Hannigan.” Officer Hall, a man looking to be close to forty with a hint of silver at his temples, spoke as his small team watched her.

      They were ready to react, she supposed, to needs she might express. Whether emotional or physical. Nice of them, really. But quite unnecessary at this point.

      She’d held it together the last time a team had visited her, too. Back then she’d been certain that Winston would return to her.

      “That letter... I don’t quite know how to express this...it’s unusual, to be sure...”

      She waited. Felt for the guy. What, her death benefits weren’t going to be as described? She could tell him she didn’t care, but knew that the navy had its protocols. That there was probably a manual description Officer Hall was attempting to adhere to. Protocols were there for good reason, Winston always used to tell her.

      Chaplain Blaine, her tag read on the navy blue jacket, leaned forward, almost reaching out a hand that, instead, landed on her own knee.

      Hall coughed. “Are you here alone, ma’am?”

      “Yes.” If you didn’t count the baby.

      “And, since your husband was declared dead, are you in a relationship...?” He cleared his throat. “Is there anyone else who could or should be here with you?”

      Frowning, Emily looked from one to the other of the three of them. All in their uniforms. Looking so...uncomfortable. She didn’t get it. She’d already been told Winston was dead.

      What could they tell her that would be worse than death?

      “I don’t need anyone here with me,” she said. “I live alone. And no, I’m not in a relationship, though what that has to do with anything...” She let her words trail off as she heard the defensiveness in her tone. They were good people doing their jobs. Apparently a very difficult one that morning.

      Stomach churning, Emily was taking a breath to ask what was going on when Officer Hall spoke.

      “We’re here to tell you that your husband is not dead, Mrs. Hannigan...”

      He said more. She could hear the drone of a male voice. Felt eyes on her. Met the gaze of the redheaded chaplain and locked there.

       Your husband is not dead, Mrs. Hannigan.

      Was she going crazy? Had he really said those incredible, beautiful, miraculous words? But...

      There was compassion in the chaplain’s gaze. Along with other things she couldn’t decipher at the moment. But one thing was pretty clear. There was no light of joy. No sparkle. With jerky movements, she turned her head, taking in the two officers on either side of Chaplain Blaine.

      “Winston’s alive?” Before she could figure this out, she had to make certain she’d heard right. That she wasn’t losing her mind right there in her own living room just three days after she’d found happiness again—in the form of the life inside her.

      “Yes.” Officer Hall nodded, as though to emphasize the word. Maybe knowing that emphasis was needed on her side of the room?

      “He’s alive!” She stood, clasped her hands, teared up, as all three officers remained seated, watching her. Seemingly concerned, as opposed to just being polite.

      So though she needed to run outside and scream to the world, she figured that could wait until she was alone. She sat. Faced them.

      “What’s wrong?” It didn’t matter what they told her. Her man was alive. They could get through anything else.

      Winston was alive! And she had a baby to give him! There could be no mistake in that timing. Finally! Yes! Life was making sense again and...

      “He’s been living with extremists for the past two years, Emily,” the chaplain spoke now. “He’s not the man you knew him to be.”

      They had no idea what she knew of Winston—bodies changed, thoughts changed, even hearts changed sometimes, but souls...they were forever. And that’s what she knew. Souls didn’t change.

      Winston had shared his with her. She still kept it tightly held within her heart.

      “I realize that combat takes its toll,” she said now. Had he lost his legs? Or maybe his face had been blown up? Whatever, she didn’t care—other СКАЧАТЬ