A SEAL's Secret Baby. Laura Altom Marie

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      “That’s you putting your own spin on my words. I’ve been trained to handle situations, and we certainly have a doozy here. Bottom line, I’m Pia’s father, and as such, I’m more than ready to step up to the parenting plate. If you need more time to adjust to my taking on this role in a formal capacity—” he shrugged “—I guess I can live with that. But not for long.”

      When relief over the fact that Deacon wasn’t dead set on rushing to John and Helen first thing in the morning flowed through her, Ellie sharply exhaled. She also released the iron grip she’d held on her emotions. All at once, fear and grief and anger for even getting herself in this position poured from her in ugly tears.

      “Hey, whoa…” In true Deacon style, he stood up and backed away.

      “Please, just go,” Ellie said, swiping at her cheeks.

      Instead of doing as she asked, he shocked her by pausing, then taking a few awkward steps forward and drawing her into a loose, equally awkward hug. She wanted to push him away, convinced she didn’t need his pity. But it turned out she did. With grief rising in her belly, threatening to cut off all air, she clung to him, fisting his shirt, resting her head against his warm, solid chest.

      He tightened his hold, burying his face in her hair. “It’s okay. Let it out.”

      “I—I can’t. I—I have to stay strong for Pia. And Tom’s parents.”

      “I’m here. Lean on me.”

      She did, crying until the only tears remaining were the ones deep inside she feared would haunt her for years to come.

      When she finally felt strong enough to stand on her own, she drew back, intending to thank Deacon for being there. Only his eyes were misty, too.

      “Of all the people in the world,” she said hoarsely, “you and I were the only ones who really, truly knew him. His parents loved him, but they didn’t know him. Not like we did.”

      Deacon nodded.

      “I’ve wanted to tell you about Pia for a long time now, but the timing never felt right.”

      “It’s okay…” He shook his head. “Well, it’s not okay that you kept this from me, but now that I know, I deserve the chance to prove I can be a good man. Never in Tom’s league, but for Pia’s sake, at least close.”

      “But you’re not pushing the whole official daddy title, right?”

      Tipping his head back, Deacon groaned. “You’re like a dog with a bone. Leave it alone, Ell. Like it or not, as Garrett says, I am Pia’s father. I’m trying to be sensitive here. Really, I am. But there’s only so much a guy can stand.” He gave her a glare before turning to look out to sea. “I’m good enough for you to cry on, but not for anyone to know I fathered your kid?”

      As if wanting to say more, but holding back, he laughed before reaching for his Patrón. He walked down the steps off the deck and stood at the back fence. Ellie watched as he tipped up the bottle repeatedly.

      She should’ve gone to him, but couldn’t.

      The most she could manage was taking and hiding his motorcycle key.

      And just when she’d thought all her tears had been spent, they returned with a vengeance. Were it not for her fears of Tom’s parents learning she wasn’t the perfect wife they’d imagined her to be, Deacon would still be sober beside her, making her world a less lonely place.

      Why couldn’t he understand how much was at stake if she admitted Tom hadn’t been Pia’s dad?

      Why can’t you understand Deacon has every right in the world to share the truth whenever and with whomever he pleases?

      Chapter Four

      The morning sun was like a laser in his eyes when Deacon woke on Ellie’s sofa, feeling as if he’d been kicked by the mule he’d encountered in a rural area on his last mission. Worse yet, from the nursery, Pia wailed. Where was Ellie?

      The restroom needed to be first on his priority list, but his mission to the Congo had left zero tolerance for baby tears, so he headed straight for the nursery.

      He scooped Pia from her crib. “Hey.”

      Huffing, red-eyed and offended, she stared at him, harder than any woman he’d ever wronged.

      “Ouch.” Leave it to a female to make him feel even worse, when for once he was trying to do the right thing.

      Ellie’s bedroom door was closed.

      He found the baby monitor off and sitting on the kitchen counter. Assuming Ellie needed the rest if she had been tired enough to forget it, he set Pia in an armchair. “Stay. I’ve really got to take care of business.”

      Back from the bathroom, Deacon found his daughter off the chair and making a beeline for a giant potted fern.

      “Whoa…” Snatching her around her waist, he held her gaze with his. “Since when are you such a rebel?”

      She blew a raspberry.

      “And you stink.”

      Her giggle didn’t do much to alleviate the smell.

      In his role as Uncle Deacon, he hadn’t done much in the way of Pia’s care. Meaning when it came to changing a diaper, he didn’t know squat. How hard could it be?

      In the nursery, he started the mission much as any other, by gathering supplies. Clean diaper—check. Wipes. Powder. Lotion. Fresh snappy pajama-thingee.

      He figured the table sporting a raised edge and floral pad on top was for changing, and he set Pia there. Only all the supplies were on the counter section of the built-in cabinets and bookshelf.

      Eyeing his daughter, he asked, “If I leave you here, are you going to stay?”

      The gleam in her eyes told him he’d asked a stupid question. The monkey would be gone faster than he could call her name.

      It took a couple trips, but he finally had the equipment and the child in the same place. Unsnapping her PJs was simple enough, but they were damp, so he wrestled them off, being careful with her arms, as they struck him as somewhat floppy. Normal? He didn’t have a clue.

      The dirty diaper was problematic.

      Sticky tabs had been made with a super polymer resin apparently tough enough to withstand Pia and others of her kind, yet not especially user friendly for those in a caretaking position. Wishing for his Bowie knife, he settled for ripping, which made for a whole new problem. The fluffy stuff inside the diaper that held the pee? Not cool.

      Deacon had wiped, lotioned and powdered when Pia decided to pee again. “Seriously?”

      Lucky for her, she already had a killer smile.

      Repeating the whole process, adding the diaper, then gently cramming her gangly limbs into ridiculously small clothing holes finally netted him a pleasant-smelling kid. СКАЧАТЬ