The SEAL’s Surprise Baby by Leslie North

16

“What did you tell Jeff?” Violet asked when she took Nate downstairs after the police left. She’d seen their neighbor cross the lawn between the houses and knock on the door, but she hadn’t been able to overhear Anderson’s conversation with him.

“Random home invasion,” he said, “but the police are investigating a possible link between the perp and this house.”

“He bought that?” It didn’t seem likely to her. “What about the two SUVs outside?”

“A couple of Rogers’s guys drove off in them. No one asked any questions.”

“Do you think the neighbors are that gullible?”

He shrugged. “Does it matter?”

She supposed not, but she liked the neighbors, even if they were a bit nosy. It was nice to know people cared about them.

“I was going to make an omelet for dinner. Want to join me?” Anderson said.

“I’d like that.” She followed him to the kitchen, put Nate in his high chair, and opened a jar of baby food for him. “Yummy apricots,” she said as she tried to coax him to open his mouth for the plastic spoon. Eating this way was new to Nate, but she’d had some success.

“When can he eat actual people food?” Anderson asked as he broke eggs into a bowl. He’d surprised her in the time they’d lived together with his ability to cook. It wasn’t gourmet food, but it tasted good and she was thankful for his skills.

“A few more months yet, according to his pediatrician.” She wiped apricot puree from Nate’s face and tried to spoon more into his mouth. She was aware of Anderson working at the stove, but her mind kept wandering to the assailants. Something wasn’t adding up in her head. The guys didn’t quite fit the profile she’d worked up.

A few minutes later, Anderson slid a plate in front of her. “Vegetable omelet. Just the way you like it. No meat, a little cheese.”

“Thanks,” she said, picking up her fork and noticing that cheese and ham oozed from the side of Anderson’s omelet. She sliced into her meal and ate slowly while her brain sorted out what had happened that afternoon. Across the table, she was aware of Anderson talking to Nate and occasionally spooning more apricots into the boy’s mouth.

“What is it?” Anderson asked after several minutes of silence.

“Huh?” She blinked and focused on him.

“Your mind’s somewhere else. You get that look when you’re letting intel percolate.”

He would notice, she thought. Talking it out with him might help. “Did it seem to you that you took out those four guys a little too easily?”

“I wasn’t working alone,” he pointed out.

“I didn’t do much.” She’d held a gun on one, giving Anderson the opportunity to deal with another assailant.

“Just say it,” he said, making her look up and meet his eyes.

“I’m not insulting your manliness or training.” She didn’t want him to take offense. She knew he was more than capable of disarming four guys by himself, but the speed and ease with which it had all been done left her wondering.

“And I wasn’t taking it that way.”

“Okay,” she said, putting her thoughts into words. “If those guys were Russian mob executioners, Volkhov’s men or otherwise, they went down too fast.” She tapped her fingers against the table. “We’ve dealt with that breed before. Can you imagine any of the executioners we encountered in Moscow being taken out in less time than it takes me to change Nate’s diaper? And why attack in broad daylight? And if they’re going to be so bold, why weren’t their guns even drawn as they entered the house? And why were there four at all? We thought it was a single enemy.”

“That’s a lot of questions.” His tone was cautious and a little doubtful.

“I’ve got more if you want to hear them.” An infinite number of questions crowded for space in her head, so many that she was struggling to sort them into categories.

“I don’t,” he said abruptly. “Let’s accept that it’s over. That’s what Rogers’s guys think, and they tend to be right.”

So did she, she wanted to argue. She’d never made an inaccurate prediction that she knew of. Her suggestions hadn’t always been followed by her superiors, but she had a track record of being spot on. She’d gotten lucky one time, she acknowledged. She’d made the correct prediction, but it was based on incorrect data. If she’d had the right intel, her advice would have been very different. It had shaken her confidence—but, ironically, gotten her a promotion.

She struggled to shake off her unease about their current situation. Something nagged at her.

Yet she wanted it to be over. Living with the threat of constant danger had worn on her nerves. Maybe that’s all her questions were: her own unwillingness to let her guard down. She’d been in a state of high alert since her car was riddled with bullets, and it was tough to let it go.

“Maybe you’re right,” she conceded, accepting that stress and adrenaline might be driving her thoughts more than logic and facts were. Her worries were still spinning around in her head, but she’d review the intel again in the morning when she’d rested and could think more clearly. They could put Nate to bed, snuggle on the couch, and watch a movie. That sounded like the perfect way to end the chaos of the day. She was just about to suggest it when he spoke.

“I need to make some phone calls so I can figure out how to get the hell out of here.” He sounded desperate to leave, a man formulating an escape route.

She turned her attention to him, truly looking at his face for the first time in several minutes. The tension that should have left when the bad guys were hauled away was still there. It might even be stronger. But what was the source, since he seemed to accept that the Russian mob was no longer after them?

“We’ll need separate cars to get home. I can pick mine up where it’s being held, but you don’t own one at all anymore. Rogers can probably help you out with that. I won’t leave until I know you have a way home.” He ticked off details as if planning a mission.

He’d moved on, she realized, catching on to his train of thought. He was worried about how they could go their separate ways. So it was over between them. That’s what he was saying. She picked up her water glass and forced herself to take a swallow while she tried to formulate a response.

“I heard from my CO earlier today,” he continued. “There’s a mission deploying in two weeks that he wants me on, so I have just enough time to go home and close up my house before I need to be back on base.”

“And after that?” she asked, proud of her calm tone.

“There’ll be another mission. Always is.” He met her eyes over the table. “I’m never in the States for more than a few weeks at a time.”

That might have been true for him, though she knew other SEALs who weren’t deployed as often. Anderson had language skills that made him unique, but she suspected he volunteered for extra duties. Either way, his message to her was clear. He wasn’t interested in being a dad to Nate or anything to her.

She stood up. “Can we talk about this in the morning? I’m tired, and you must be, too. Let’s make it an early night.” She detached the tray from Nate’s high chair and lifted him out.

“That’s a good idea,” he said. “I’ll stay down here on the couch.”

“Why would you do that, since you think the danger is over?” she asked, though she knew the answer she would receive. He didn’t want to share a bed with her. Hell, he didn’t want to sleep on the same floor of the house, apparently.

“You know why, Violet,” he said, taking Nate from her. “I’ll settle him for the night. You go to bed.” He walked out of the kitchen ahead of her and headed for the stairs.

She’d never been ordered to bed by a man, and everything in her bristled against it. He was dismissing her as if she were a child, which hurt, but the worst part was that he was dismissing Nate as well. And that broke her heart.

She stood in the kitchen listening to the sounds overhead. Anderson was talking to Nate as he got him ready for bed—as if he wasn’t going to walk away from his son tomorrow. How could he do that? No matter what Anderson believed about himself as a potential father, didn’t he have some affection for the child he’d helped care for?

Anger and sorrow rose in Violet in equal amounts, and she knew she wasn’t going to be able to stay silent. She gathered up their dinner dishes, loaded the dishwasher, and cleaned the kitchen while she waited for Anderson to come back down. When her tasks were done, she paced around the living room until she heard footsteps on the stairs. She whirled to face him.

“I thought you were going to bed,” Anderson said, tossing a blanket and a pillow on the couch.

“And I thought you might care about Nate and me,” she shot back.

“I do,” he said, scrubbing a hand over his face, “but it’s… complicated.”

“What’s complicated about it? Across the world there are millions of families where this isn’t complicated.” She worked to calm her tone.

“Right. Millions of normal families from generations of normal families, who know how to be a family. We don’t.” His hands went to his hips.

They were a family, but insisting on that wasn’t the right tack with him. “Do you think all those normal moms and dads instinctively knew how to be parents? I’m sure they didn’t. The fact that you seem to think you aren’t fatherly shouldn’t prevent you from trying.”

“I can’t do it, Violet,” he declared. “I never said I would. In fact, I clearly told you the opposite.”

“You don’t love him, then?” She watched his face closely, watched his eyes shift as he tried to formulate an answer to her question. He didn’t want to respond. That was obvious. But why? Because he didn’t love his son… or was it something else? Was it about her?

He turned away and arranged the blanket on the couch, carefully tucking it in as if doing that tucked away his emotions as well. It was neat and compartmentalized, and she felt like tearing it apart. She had the overwhelming sense that this was her last opportunity to reach him. In the morning, he’d find excuses not to discuss their relationship and probably have her packed into a new car and sent home by noon. This was the time to be honest about her own feelings toward him, because she might not get another chance.

“Anderson, look at me.” She waited until he turned toward her. His arms went across his chest in a defensive posture, but he wasn’t going to deter her from what she had to say. “I want us to be a family, for Nate’s sake. Every little boy should have a daddy, and despite what you say, I think you love him. I know you’d do anything to protect him and make sure he had what he needed—and those are behaviors of a loving father. I’m done with hearing that you aren’t father material because you had a lousy dad yourself.” His eyes narrowed, dark and dangerous. “I’d think you’d want to prove you could be a good dad despite that.”

“Don’t goad me,” he warned. She almost smiled at him. His words reminded her of their exchanges in Moscow when the white heat of their attraction had flared. She’d missed the banter later, but she’d also come to realize how much she’d misunderstood their initial relationship. What had happened halfway around the world had formed the basis of what they had now. If she could only make him see that.

“I’m not,” she said. “I’m speaking the truth, and you know it—but I’m not done yet.” She paused for a few seconds to gather her strength before plunging on. “Sometime, somehow, I fell in love with you. It started during our fights in Russia, and it’s what drove me to seek you out and tell you we had a son.” It was only as she made that declaration that she realized it was true—that love for him had been her impetus. She’d thought it only fair that he know of their child, but somewhere deep inside her she’d clung to the hope of love with Anderson. She’d lied to herself about the strength of her feelings for Anderson, but she wasn’t doing that anymore. “And the time here has made me sure of my love for you. I want you in my life, Anderson—for Nate, but for me, too.”

She could have gone on detailing the reasons she loved him, the ways she loved him, but she could see he was struggling. His jaw was hard set, as if working to keep something in… or keep love out. She didn’t know which, so she waited, hoping that she’d gotten through to him.

“Go to bed, Violet,” he finally said, repeating his command from an hour earlier.

“You have nothing to say to me?” she asked softly. She wasn’t expecting a declaration of love, but she’d hoped for something that showed she mattered to him.

“Just that I’ve fulfilled my end of the bargain.” His words seemed rationed out. “I’ve protected you and Nate. You’re safe now, and this is over. I’ll make sure you get home, and I’ll arrange financial support for Nate. That’s it, Violet.” He held his hands out in the “all gone” gesture she’d seen him use with Nate. “That’s all I’ve got to give.”

She felt her face crack, fracture into a thousand pieces, and found herself unable to speak. As she went past him to the stairs, she didn’t know if she felt more hurt for herself or for him. If he truly believed he had nothing to give her and Nate, that was the saddest thing she’d ever heard.