Heart of a Hero: The Soldier's Seduction / The Heart of a Mercenary / Straight Through the Heart. Lyn Stone

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      “Are you feeling well?” she asked as she unbuckled Bridget’s car seat.

      That appeared to startle him. “Yeah.” He indicated the child still sleeping on her mother’s shoulder. “Let’s go in and introduce Sleeping Beauty here to her grandpa.”

      Phoebe’s stomach was in knots as Wade guided her to the side porch door that the family always used. He opened the door and gestured for her to precede him. As he entered behind her, he called, “Hey, Dad. Where are you?”

      “Hello.” A deep rumbling voice much like Wade’s came from the direction of the kitchen.

      Wade stepped around her and headed down the hallway leading to the kitchen, and a moment later his father appeared. “Well, this is a surprise! I thought you were going to be on the East Coast for at least a month.” The two men grabbed each other in a typically male, back-pounding hug.

      Phoebe stood, rooted to the spot in horror. A surprise? Hadn’t Wade told his father about Bridget yet?

      “…someone here I want you to meet,” Wade was saying as the men walked toward her.

      Reston, Wade’s father, did a double take when he saw her standing there. “Phoebe Merriman. I didn’t know you were back in town, honey! It’s great to see you—and who’s this?” His tone was filled with delight. “I didn’t even know you’d gotten married and here you’re a mama.”

      An immediate silence fell, awkwardness hanging in the air like thick smoke.

      “Aw, hell.” Reston scrubbed a hand over his face. “Forget I just said that. Mothers don’t have to be married these days, I know.” He stumped on toward Phoebe, and she remembered that his uneven gait was the result of arthritis that forced him to favor one hip. When he reached her, he peered down at the sleeping child she had shifted to hold in the cradle of her arm. “Aren’t you a beauty?” he asked, his tone tender as he brushed a finger along Bridget’s cheek, catching one fiery curl on his fingertip. He chuckled. “Got that Merriman red hair, didn’t she?”

      Phoebe nodded, forced herself to smile. “When she was born, all the nurses laughed because it was sticking straight out all over her head.”

      Wade cleared his throat. “Ah, Dad? Can we sit down?”

      Reston straightened and shot his son a wary look. “Okay. You bringing bad news?”

      Wade shook his head. “No, I think you’re going to like this news.” He ushered Phoebe ahead of him into the living room and took a seat beside her on the couch. “There’s no easy way to tell you this, so I might as well just say it. Phoebe and I…well, the baby’s name is Bridget and I’m her father.”

      Seven

       I’m her father.

      Phoebe wondered if Wade’s words sounded as shocking to his parent as they did to her. How long was it going to take before she accepted that Wade was really alive—and in her life for good, if he had his way?

      Reston Donnelly’s eyes widened and his mouth fell open. “Get out!”

      “It’s true.” Wade smiled at his father’s obvious astonishment. “You’re a grandfather.”

      Reston’s gaze flew back to Bridget. “That’s—you’re—she’s my granddaughter?”

      Wade nodded.

      “Why…?” Reston cleared his throat. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

      “He didn’t know,” Phoebe said hastily. She couldn’t bear the look of hurt on Reston’s face. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you—”

      “Phoebe thought I was dead.” Wade cut off her attempt at apology. “She heard the first news after my unit got cut off, but she never got the correction when I was found.”

      Reston’s head snapped up from his inspection of Bridget, his expression changing from hurt to horrified. “Oh, honey. If I’d known where to find you, I’d have let you know. No one knew where you’d gone after…”

      “I know. I needed a fresh start.”

      Reston nodded. He looked back down at the child in Phoebe’s arms. “I imagine you did.” His gaze landed on his son. “How’d you find her?”

      Wade uttered a short bark of laughter. “Hounded every person she’d ever known, hoping someone could tell me where she was. I finally got lucky with one of her high-school friends.”

      “Must have been the shock of your life when he showed up alive.” Reston transferred his gaze back to Phoebe.

      “You could say that.” No way was she getting into that minefield. “Would you like to hold her?”

      Reston nodded. “You bet.” Phoebe’s heart melted at the look in Wade’s father’s eyes. Dazed. Delighted. Tender.

      Reston nodded. “Please.” He settled back in his chair as Phoebe rose and approached, laying Bridget in his arms. He cradled her in one gnarled hand, gently brushing her cheek with the other. “Oh, you’re a little beauty,” he whispered. “Bridget. Bridget Donnelly. That’s a good Irish name.” He shook his head and the light reflected the sheen of tears in his eyes. “Your grandma surely would have loved you.”

      Phoebe’s chest hurt as she fought not to sob. She didn’t dare glance at Wade. She could imagine the wintry expression on his face without having to see it. But she didn’t try to correct Reston’s assumption about Bridget’s last name. There would be time for that.

      Bridget started to fuss and Wade said, “Here. Let me see if I can settle her.” Phoebe did glance at him then, but he wasn’t looking at her. He lifted the baby and held her against his shoulder; it was amazing how natural the gesture looked after such a short time. Bridget quieted immediately and Wade grinned. “She’s turning into a daddy’s girl.”

      Phoebe relaxed, one of those silly maternal things that happened when one’s child was well-behaved. Before Bridget, she’d never understood how parents could be so uptight. A screaming session in the middle of Wal-Mart could change your perspective pretty quickly. She dug in her bag and handed Reston a photo album into which she had slid pictures of Bridget right after her birth and at various ages since. “I brought you some pictures.”

      Reston moved to the sofa and patted the seat beside him. His face was soft. “Sit down here and tell me about her.”

      “I’ll join you.” Wade’s voice was quiet.

      She glanced up at him, but he was looking at the album and wouldn’t meet her gaze. She knew he’d looked through the photo albums she’d kept since Bridget’s birth…but she’d never told him much about his daughter’s early days, she realized.

      Remorse shot through her for about the zillionth time, and she mimicked his father’s motion, patting the cushion on the other side of her. “That would be nice. I haven’t told you that Bridget was almost born in the middle of a wedding.”

      Wade froze. “What?”

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