The Seal's Surrender. Maureen Child

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      No she wouldn’t, he thought, looking into those forest-green eyes of hers. They were big and wet and sad, but there was no smudge of dark makeup around them. Just the remnants of tears she was fighting to control. Damned if he didn’t admire her for that, too.

      She could be wallowing in the fear that was close to strangling her, but she wasn’t. Instead, she was holding herself together through the force of her will. Hell, she didn’t even want sympathy. So what exactly was it he could do for her?

      “Do you want to go back inside?” he asked.

      “God no,” she said, shaking her head and moving back to the railing. Keeping her face averted from both him and the sliding glass doors behind them, she said, “I don’t want them to know I’ve been crying. I just couldn’t take the questions right now.”

      Privacy. Something else he could understand. Well, if he couldn’t escort her through the maze of party-goers, he could at least make her eventual trip inside a little easier. “Okay. Just wait here, then. I’ll be back.”

      Before she could say anything, he opened the sliding glass doors and stepped back into the party. Noise assaulted him and he instantly missed the relative peace and quiet of the balcony.

      Focused, Chance paid no attention to the people around him. He moved through the crowd as if he were on a mission. He kept his goal in mind and went about accomplishing it as quickly as he could. Which wasn’t as easy as he’d expected. There were just too many people.

      He cast one quick, nearly wistful glance at the front door, then forgot about leaving and went on with his quest.

      When he walked into the kitchen, the folks in there looked as surprised as they would have if lightning had struck the butcher-block work island in the center of the massive room.

      “Can I help you, Mr. Chance?”

      Grateful, he looked to the woman on his right. Mentally, he scrambled for her name and came up with it an instant later.

      “Ruby, right?” he asked.

      “That’s me,” the housekeeper said, giving him a nod sharp enough to shake loose a graying red curl from her topknot to lie askew in the middle of her forehead.

      In the few days he’d been in town, Chance had seen this woman running the Connelly household—and family, for that matter—with an iron fist. Grant and Emma might think they were in charge, but the truth was, Ruby was the brass around here.

      The short, slightly rounded woman with kind blue eyes had the ability to get things done, and Chance appreciated that. Even while keeping under radar, staying unnoticed himself. He’d seen how his half brothers and sisters scampered when Ruby gave an order. Hell, even his father, Grant, didn’t argue when she laid down the law.

      Clearly, she’d been in charge so long, she never even considered the possibility that people wouldn’t obey her without question. In the military, she might have made it to the Joint Chiefs of Staff. Here, she ran the Connelly household like a well-oiled machine and wouldn’t accept anything less.

      “Now, how can I help you?” she asked, snatching his attention as she would have the hand of a child inclined to wander off.

      Chance glanced around at the others clustered within hearing distance, reluctant to speak up with so many eager ears nearby. The housekeeper noticed and clapped her hands sharply. “What are you bunch staring at? Get about your business. Don’t you have drinks and canapés you could be serving?”

      They scattered like windblown leaves, and, in seconds, he was alone in the room with Ruby. “I’m impressed,” he said.

      “For running them off? Don’t be. I am sorry about them, though,” the woman said, with a shake of her head. “They’re day help for the party and their mamas apparently forgot to teach them any manners.”

      He smiled. “I have a feeling you’ll take care of that.”

      She straightened up and puffed out her chest. “I’ll do my best in the short time I have them,” she assured him. “So what is it you need, Mr. Chance?”

      He winced a little at the implied title. Now, people calling him “Commander,” he’d earned. He could even live with “Hey, sailor,” but “Mr. Chance”? No way. That was just way too highfalutin. “Just, Chance, all right?”

      One corner of her mouth twitched, but she only nodded. “Chance it is, then.” She studied him for a long minute, then said, “You know, you’ve the look of your father around the eyes. More so than your brother does.”

      Chance shifted uncomfortably. He didn’t necessarily want to be reminded that he looked like the man who’d managed to ignore both him and his brother their whole lives. What was he supposed to say to that, anyway? Thank you didn’t seem appropriate somehow. So he ignored the comment entirely.

      After all, it wasn’t as if he’d come here looking to find family. He already had his family. Douglas. With the death of their mother, all they had left was each other. And that had always been enough before.

      The only reason he was here at all was as a favor to Doug. And if he hadn’t been shot by that sneaky little terrorist on his last mission, he wouldn’t have had to put up with any of the pomp and circumstance surrounding the Connellys. But then, he wouldn’t have been here to ride to Jennifer’s rescue, either, would he?

      And that thought returned him to why he’d come to the kitchen in the first place.

      “Any chance I could get a glass of water and a box of tissues?” he asked.

      Ruby narrowed her eyes thoughtfully as she looked at him. “Feel a crying jag coming on, do you?”

      Chance played along. “Yes, ma’am. I’m feeling real emotional.”

      She snorted. “Yeah, I can see that.” But without another word, she bustled around the room and came back with just what he’d asked for. As he turned to leave the room, though, her voice stopped him. “You tell Jennifer for me that everything’s going to be all right.”

      He looked at her. Shouldn’t be surprised, he thought. He’d already discovered that nothing much went on around here that Ruby didn’t know about. “What?”

      “I’ve been with the Connellys for more years than I care to admit. Not much gets past me. I know there’s something wrong.”

      Nodding, he told her, “You would have made a good admiral.”

      “Phooey,” she said, waving one hand to dismiss him. “Admirals are small stuff. I’d have made a good president.”

      “You know something?” he said, giving her a wink, “I believe you.” Then he slipped from the room before she could give him any orders he’d be too afraid not to follow.

      “Oh, this is good,” Jennifer told herself aloud as she clutched the balcony railing and stared out at Lake Michigan. “Way to ensure your employment, Jen.” Shaking her head, she blinked back tears that still threatened and solemnly vowed they wouldn’t fall. She’d already screwed up big-time.

      What had she been thinking? Crying СКАЧАТЬ