The Marine's Secret Daughter Read online

  “Do you have a picture?” When he opened the soda, the tab snapped off and he tossed it aside.

  Digging into her pocket, Meg pulled out her cell phone and thumbed through her photos. She found one her dad had sent a few days ago: a wide shot another tourist must’ve taken. It was a smiling Fiona standing between Mac and Doris in front of the Grand Canyon. The photo was close enough to see Fiona but not so close as to show her facial features clearly...especially her gray eyes. Riley’s eyes.

  Her heart pounding, she handed him the phone. And this was a picture. What would she do when Fiona arrived in person? She was simultaneously too tired and wired from the asthma meds to think about that now.

  Riley stared at the screen, a slight frown puckering his brow. Using his thumb and index finger he enlarged the image, and Meg’s fingers clenched against the urge to snatch the phone back. What was he thinking? Could he see himself like she did each time she looked at her precious daughter? Sure, everyone said Fiona looked like her, but Meg saw Riley in everything Fiona did or said.

  Finally, he lifted his head and handed the phone back; an expression that looked a lot like longing crossed his face. But that was crazy. He’d chosen the marines over settling down. Did he now regret it? She pushed those dangerous thoughts aside.

  “Except for the glasses, she looks just like you.”

  Her short laugh was a mixture of relief and regret. “Liam says it’s like growing up with me all over again.”

  Laughing, he shook his head. “I can’t imagine Liam as an uncle.”

  “Yeah, and Fiona loves it when he babysits because she has him wrapped around her little finger.”

  “You let Liam babysit?”

  She stiffened for a moment but his lopsided grin proved he was teasing. “Pfft, yeah, he fools us sometimes by acting like a responsible adult.”

  “Huh... Liam babysitting his niece... I have been gone a long time.” One side of his mouth lifted in a half smile.

  “He’s twenty-nine, same as you.” She licked her bottom lip. “And you’re a responsible adult... Haven’t you ever thought about settling down?”

  His brows drew together. “I am settled, Meg.”

  “I see.” But did she?

  You have a blind spot when it comes to that boy, her ma used to say. If her ma could see Riley now, she’d see he was no longer a boy. No, the boy Meg had fallen in love with was a man.

  “What about your parents? How are they?”

  “Mom’s in Seattle with husband number three and Dad’s in Boca Raton dating women my age.”

  “How come you didn’t go to stay with one of them?” She and Fiona might have moved out of her dad’s house, but she couldn’t imagine not having him or her brother in their lives.

  “We do better with a buffer of half a country between us.”

  “But your mother, she—”

  He shook his head. “She spent my childhood trying to prevent me from having any kind of relationship with my dad.”

  Instead of eating the pizza slice in her hand, she laid it on the napkin. “Maybe she thought she was protecting you.”

  He released a noisy puff of air. “Short of abuse, there’s no excuse for keeping a child from his or her father.”

  She pushed her pizza to the side. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you spend money on the pizza then not eat it, but I’m exhausted. I... I just want to lie down.”

  He pushed his chair back and rose. “Do you want me to turn the television and lights off so you can sleep?”

  “No, that’s okay. No matter how exhausted I am, the meds key me up so it’s hard to sleep. I’ll lie down and read for a bit. That might help.”

  He snagged another slice of pizza and ate it standing up. “If you’re done in the bathroom, I’ll take a shower. If you need anything, give me a shout.”

  She settled on the bed with her e-reader, but she couldn’t concentrate on the words in front of her. Short of abuse, there’s no excuse for keeping a child from his or her father. Riley’s words haunted her.

  * * *

  Riley tugged a pair of tattered jeans on over his black boxer briefs and pulled on a faded gray T-shirt to cover his scars. Brushing his teeth, he thought about Meg asking him if he’d thought about settling down. What had she been asking him? When he’d looked at the picture of Meg’s little girl, something had curled around his heart; a feeling he couldn’t shake. After his parents’ disastrous marriage, he’d decided not making that commitment in the first place seemed the wisest option. Of course, Meg would see things differently because her parents had provided her with a stable and loving home. He couldn’t risk what he felt for Meg turning into a morass of bitterness like his parents. He assumed they loved one another at some point but it must’ve been before he was born.

  Maybe if he explained why he was content to let the marines be his family, Meg would understand. He hated hurting her and decided he’d give explaining a shot, but he opened the bathroom door to find Meg sound asleep. She was on top of the covers, an e-reader in her lap, her head at an uncomfortable-looking angle against the headboard. Damn, he couldn’t leave her like that. Dropping his dirty clothes on top of his canvas pack, he went to her.

  He laid the reading device on the nightstand bolted to the wall and lifted her legs while pulling the covers back with his other hand. After he’d gotten them pushed aside, he settled her on the bed, surprised she didn’t wake up, but she just murmured something and snuggled up to the stuffed bear. Maybe the medications had wiped her out after all. He rearranged the covers and tucked her in, wishing for a moment he was that stuffed toy.

  Leaning over the bed, he pressed his mouth to her forehead in a light kiss, inhaling her fresh, soapy scent. He brushed a stray curl off her cheek and tucked it behind her ear. Shaking his head at his actions, he turned off the light, stripped out of his jeans and T-shirt and crawled into the other bed. Lacing his fingers together, he rested his head on his hands and stared at the ceiling. His first week in Afghanistan, Riley had expected Liam and Mac to show up, looking to castrate him for seducing Meggie. Not that anything they could have done to him would have been any worse than what he’d done to himself. How many nights had he lain awake in some hellhole, torturing himself with thoughts of her?

  * * *

  Meg jerked awake and sat up. Where was she? Her mind played back the events of the evening. Riley. The ER. Then the motel. She’d woken earlier, hot and sweaty, so she’d removed her robe, but fatigue had dragged her back to sleep.

  The noise again.

  It was coming from the other bed. Riley? Meg got up and went to the bathroom to turn on that light rather than the ones in the room. If he was having a nightmare, she didn’t want to startle him.

  Riley thrashed on the bed, the covers tangled around his feet. Was he reliving some battlefield trauma? Or standard nightmare fare?

  “Riley?” She took a few cautious steps toward the bed and spoke a little louder. “Riley?”

  He jackknifed upright in the bed and glanced in her direction, but his expression held no hint of recognition. He drew in several ragged breaths, scrubbing his fingers over his face and in his hair. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he bowed his head and rested his arms between his knees.

  Meg used the light spilling from the bathroom to observe him. His black boxer briefs hugged his hips and thighs, dipping lower in the back as he sat on the mattress and reminding her how he’d felt under her hands, how she’d spent years closing her eyes and remembering. Now, here he was, alone with her in the dark, awake and tormented, and she wanted to comfort him, wanted him to comfort her, wanted the years and the space between them to melt away. But that was a childish wish. Still... “Riley?”

  He lifted his head and his jaw dropped. “Meggie?”

  “I... I...”

  “Why aren’t you in bed?” Jumping up, h
e took a stumbling step toward her. “Are you okay? Is something wrong?”

  “I’m fine.” She shook her head. “I... You...”

  He took her arm and nudged her to the edge of the bed, pressing on her shoulders till she sat. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m fine. You were having a nightmare.” Her stomach twisted at Riley’s suffering. She yearned to kiss him, tell him how much she admired his courage. Would he welcome the attention or reject her?

  He sank down next to her, causing the mattress to dip. “Sorry if I woke you.”

  Meg touched his thigh, and when she would have pulled away, he covered her hand with his callused one.

  Her breath stuttered in her chest. “Do you get a lot of nightmares?”

  “Not really.” He threaded his fingers through hers.

  She stifled the urge to throw her arms around him and hang on for dear life. That would be a big mistake. A whopper. “Was this one about your time in Afghanistan?”

  He squeezed her hand. “I don’t remember. Just a crazy dream.”

  “Sometimes it helps to talk it out.” She kept her tone neutral despite her pounding heart.

  He glanced down at their entwined hands, dropping hers as if it had scorched his. “I told you, I don’t remember.”

  She stiffened at his icy tone and shifted her body away from his. This time the tightness in her lungs had nothing to do with asthma.

  He jumped off the bed and pulled his pants on. “I’m sorry I woke you. You need your sleep.”

  He grabbed his shirt off the floor and yanked it over his head. Stuffing his bare feet into his boots, he said, “I need some air. You should get your rest.”

  “Where are you going?”

  His hand flexed around the doorknob. “I’ll be right outside if you need anything.”

  “Do...do you want me to come?” She remembered those bottles of whiskey and her stomach sank. Is that why he needed them? Maybe if she could get him to talk, he wouldn’t need the alcohol.

  He spoke to her from the open door. “I can look after myself, Meghan. I’ve been doing it for quite some time now.”

  Pain squeezed her chest, leaving her feeling vulnerable, confused. “Fine.”

  The door clicking shut behind him was his response.

  * * *

  Riley leaned against his truck, lifting one foot to rest against the driver’s door. Those nightmares left him raw and aching to escape his own skin, reminding him how, as a kid, he’d longed to escape those vicious arguments between his parents. As a young boy he’d been convinced if he’d been better, stronger, smarter, he could’ve solved his parents’ marital problems, make them a whole family once again. The nightmares proved escape was an illusion.

  He let himself back into the room. He’d stayed close so he’d be able to hear her if she began coughing too much. The light still shone from the bathroom and he could see Meg huddled under the covers. He toed off his untied boots and went to her. The light from the bathroom lit her face and highlighted tracks in her cheeks. Had he caused those tears? He skimmed the tips of his fingers across her smooth skin, and his chest squeezed so tight it was a wonder it didn’t crush his heart.

  He’d hurt her, but what else could he have done once he’d become aware she’d removed the robe and sat next to him in nothing but a tank top and skimpy sleep shorts? His body had reacted immediately and noticeably, so he’d had to get out of there. Quick. Or be embarrassed like a horny teenager. He knew the fastest and best way to do that had been to reject her touch, her concern...her. It had killed him to do it, but what choice did he have? If he’d stayed, he’d have leaned into her touch and done a heck of a lot more than kiss her forehead. He had to keep reminding himself she was still recovering from a life-threatening asthma attack.

  And she was still off-limits. Liam had made that clear the last time he’d called him. I understand getting your rocks off before leaving, but I never suspected it would be with my sister. I never thought you’d take advantage of that crush, or that you’d screw her as a going-away present. The morning after their night of passion, Meg had pleaded with Riley not to tell Liam and he’d agreed. Obviously, she’d come clean to her brother at some point.

  Riley gave up trying to sleep around dawn, rolled out of bed, threw his clothes on and slipped out of the room. Big-box home improvement stores catering to general contractors opened early, so he’d take advantage of that and pick up some supplies for Meg’s basement. Before he left Loon Lake, her cellar would be free of mold and as flood proof as possible.

  On the way back to the motel, he went through the burger joint’s drive-through and picked up two coffees. He juggled his half-empty cup and her full one as he entered the room.

  Meg was just coming out of the bathroom, dressed in faded jeans that hugged her slender curves and an oversize white cotton button-down shirt, the tails tied at the waist. She had her flyaway curls pulled back from her face in a messy ponytail and the color was back in her cheeks.

  His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth as he stood and drank in her girl-next-door appearance. This. This was the picture he’d carry back with him and pull out on long, lonely nights when it was just him and his M16. “I...uh, bought coffee.”

  “I see that.” She set the small bundle of clothes in her hands on the bed and crossed the room.

  She stood before him, looking more beautiful than he’d remembered from that night almost six years ago. Her color was back and a smattering of freckles danced across the bridge of her nose and the top of her cheeks, as well. That night he’d rolled his tongue over them, savoring her sweetness.

  “Riley?”

  “Sorry.” He shoved the coffee at her and reached into his pocket to toss some sugar packets, napkins and creamers on the table.

  He peeled the lid off his coffee. “Since you didn’t eat much of last night’s pizza, I thought you might like a proper breakfast. Is that restaurant on the town square still open?”

  “Aunt Polly’s? Yeah, it’s still there.” She set her cup on the table, then picked up several packets and shook them down before ripping off one end.

  When she bent her head over her task, he leaned closer, his fingers itching to pluck a curl from its confinement. He shoved his free hand into his pocket and jingled the loose change. “They still serve buckwheat pancakes with boysenberry syrup?”

  She looked up and nodded, swallowing hard, the muscles in her slender neck working.

  He gulped his coffee, despite its lingering heat stinging his tongue. The empty to-go cup collapsed in his hand and he tossed it on the table. “I’m taking you there for breakfast.”

  Her eyes widened then narrowed. “Are you asking me or telling me?”

  Incapable of keeping his hands off her, he clumsily brushed a stray curl off her forehead. “Which do you prefer?”

  She frowned but didn’t pull away from his touch. “Asking would be nice.”

  “Then consider yourself asked. I’ve been craving...pancakes.”

  Something flickered in her eyes, but she blinked and it disappeared. “Well, in that case, I’ll get my stuff packed up. It’s not much so it won’t take but a minute.”

  He flexed his fingers. “Good. I’m...starved.”

  Coffee sloshed over the cup onto her hand and she grimaced.

  “Here.” He took her cup and handed her a napkin since licking the coffee from her fingers wasn’t a viable option.

  “Thanks.” She wiped her hand. “You must’ve been up early.”

  “I went to the home improvement store,” he answered automatically and mentally kicked himself. What if she still wanted to fight him on this? “I’ll take a look at your basement. Clean up what I can to be sure there’s no lingering mold and see about sealing the cement against further water incursion.”

  She sucked on her lower lip as she seemed to be c
onsidering his offer. “Thanks. I appreciate the help.”

  They drove toward Loon Lake on the four-lane highway maintained by the state. He smiled to himself at the signs warning of moose crossings. At least the dangers here were posted, unlike the roads in Afghanistan, where a roadside bomb could change your life in an instant. Although he guessed hitting a moose at high speed would accomplish the same thing.

  As they entered the town, he slowed to admire the tidy, brick-fronted businesses that sported bright-colored awnings, American flags and wooden buckets containing flowers. He tightened his grip on the steering wheel. Those decorative buckets would be the perfect place to conceal an explosive device.

  “Riley?”

  Had she sensed the change in him? To break the spell and avoid questions, he pointed to a place with tables on the sidewalk. “That looks new.”

  “Yes, that’s a microbrewery. It’s quite popular on the weekends.”

  “Beer?”

  “Hard cider.” Meg waved at a woman sweeping the sidewalk in front a bookstore next to the brewery.

  He slowed the truck again as they drove past a café with a red awning that declared Aunt Polly’s in white lettering. He didn’t have to go too far past to park and pulled into the angled parking spot.

  Jumping out, he rushed to help Meg before feeding coins into the parking meter.

  His fingers twitched, but he refrained from touching her as they walked the short distance to the café, respecting her concerns over gossip. They entered the bustling restaurant and warm air carried the scents of coffee, cinnamon and bacon grease. Directly across from the entrance was a long counter with half a dozen stools filled with customers, booths lined up along the front windows and a couple of unoccupied tables between the counter and the booths. Riley noticed that everyone smiled, nodded or waved at Meg.