The SEAL's Secret Daughter

by Christy Jeffries

  “Excuse me for a sec,” she said, stepping away to answer the call from an unknown number. “Hello?”

  “Hey, Monica, this is Marcia over at Duncan’s Market.” Marcia only stopped in the library once a year or so to browse the self-help books, yet always left empty-handed. She’d also been a few years ahead of Monica in high school and even back then was well established as one of the most notorious gossips in town.

  “Hi, Marcia. What can I do for you?” Scrunching her nose, Monica thought, Please let this phone call be about the Motivational Mondays book club and not about why Monica has been spending so much time lately with Ethan Renault.

  “The reason I’m calling is because your grandmother came in this morning to do some shopping, but when she got to the checkout line, she didn’t seem to have her purse.”

  A knot of dread formed in the pit of Monica’s stomach. “Is she still there?”

  “She is. She got pretty agitated so Mauricio, our deli manager, took her into the back office to talk about rotisserie chicken recipes. I think it’s calming her down, but you should probably swing by and pick her up.”

  Ethan approached, his dark brow lifted in a silent question. Monica covered the mouthpiece of the phone and whispered, “Gran’s over at the market. I have to go get her.”

  He nodded, so Monica removed her hand to speak into the phone just as Ethan added, “Tell them we’re on our way.”

  Marcia gasped on the other end. “Oh my. Is that a man I just heard in the background?”

  Monica’s cheeks flooded with heat and she squeaked out, “I’ll be right there.”

  * * *

  Ethan drove Monica straight to Duncan’s Market and, despite the fact that she insisted he leave her there, he followed her into the store. “Your car is still at the café and I don’t have to be on the job site until ten o’clock. So unless you want your gran walking to your car in her bathrobe and tap shoes, you should probably let me give you guys a ride.”

  “But then Marcia Duncan is going to know that we were together this morning,” Monica said through clenched teeth as she forced a smile and a wave at one of the cashiers.

  “It’s Sugar Falls and all the parents and teachers just saw us at the elementary school together.” He glanced down at the titanium chronograph watch the guys in his platoon gave him for setting a record on the combat diver qualifications course. “I’m sure Marcia, as well as the rest of the five thousand people who live within the city limits, already know you were with me. In fact, they’ve probably been speculating on it for at least a good hour by now.”

  “Oh hey there, Ethan,” Marcia greeted them in the same syrupy tone she’d used when she’d followed him and Trina around the store last week, pointing out all the specials while not-so-subtly throwing in a leading question. We have strawberry Pop-Tarts on sale. Do you have strawberry Pop-Tarts back in...where are you from again, dear? As they’d stocked up on groceries, Marcia had tried to stock up on gossip about the person everyone else in town was referring to as his secret daughter. “I thought I recognized your voice when I was on the phone with Monica, but I knew she’d already left the café to go to...where were you guys so early this morning?”

  See, Ethan shot Monica a knowing look, but her head was on a swivel—probably scanning the store for her wayward grandmother—and didn’t seem to register anything else. Not wanting to give in to Marcia’s blatant attempts to fish for information, he asked, “Is Mrs. Alvarez still here?”

  “She’s back here. Mauricio is trying to keep her calm by letting her chop up cabbage for coleslaw, but she refuses to wear the disposable gloves or put her hair up in the hairnet. So we won’t be able to sell any of it.”

  “There you are, mija,” Gran said to Monica when they entered the deli prep kitchen. “And you brought your handsome friend with you again.”

  “Hi, Gran.” Monica’s tone was laced with caution. He recognized it as the same one he used when he wanted to ask Trina a question and didn’t want to scare her off. “We stopped by to give you a ride home. You remember Mr. Renault, don’t you?”

  Ethan would’ve laughed at the way Monica emphasized his formal name, as if that would lead Marcia—or anyone else—to think there wasn’t anything casual going on between them. But now wasn’t the time to be teasing her about the status of their relationship. Not only because her grandmother was possibly in a delicate mental state, but also because he wasn’t exactly sure of the definition of their relationship at that point.

  “Of course I remember you, Ethan,” Gran replied, then winked at the store owner. “He spends quite a bit of time at our house, you know.”

  Monica’s cheeks turned a charming shade of crimson. “That was back in November when he was working on our kitchen, Gran.”

  “And he stayed over very late after he brought you home the other night, mija.”

  “Oh my.” Marcia’s eyes couldn’t get any rounder and her mouth hung open like one of those bottom-feeding catfish hanging out at the Lake Rush docks waiting for someone to drop a tasty morsel their way.

  Ethan’s fingers twitched. “Mrs. Alvarez, if you’re all done here, why don’t we head on back to your place and maybe you can make me something for lunch?”

  Really, he wasn’t very hungry after adding that cinnamon roll to his normal breakfast earlier. Plus, it wasn’t exactly lunchtime, but when they’d worked on her house, the older woman had seemed to enjoy plying him and Kane with homemade food no matter what time of day it was.

  “For you, mijo, I’ll make some fresh conchas and that Mexican hot chocolate you like,” Gran said, using the masculine version of the endearment she usually reserved for her granddaughter. “But I’ll have to stop at the market on the way home and pick up some things.”

  Monica’s breath came out in a sigh. “Gran, we’re at the market right now.”

  “Oh, well then that’s convenient.” The woman took off the service deli apron someone had given her, revealing the shabby bathrobe she’d been wearing underneath. Her feet gave off a musical ping with each step as she walked across the tile floor. She looped her frail arm through Monica’s, stifling a yawn. “Mija, go grab us a cart so we can do our shopping.”

  “Um, Mrs. Alvarez—” Marcia lifted her plump fingers in a small wave “—you still have your cart of groceries over by the register. Remember, you told us not to put anything back until Monica got here with your purse.”

  Monica patted her jacket pockets. “That might be an issue. I left my own purse at the café when I took off with Ethan this morning.”

  “So then you want me to put the groceries in the cart away?” Marcia scratched the frizzy blond hair on top of her head. “All of them?”

  “Donde estan, mija?” Mrs. Alvarez’s face grew pinched. “Donde esta la comida que acabo de compare? Y por que me esta viendo asi la gorda?”

  Ethan had to rely on some of the Spanish phrases he’d learned back when he’d been stationed in San Diego near the border. But he understood enough to know that the older woman had just taken a turn and didn’t know where they were or what had happened to the food she’d just bought. She’d also made an unflattering remark about Marcia Duncan’s size, judging by the tight grin Mauricio Norte was trying to hide and the shushing sounds Monica was making at her.

  Ethan fished the keys out of his pocket and handed them to Monica. “Why don’t you take Gran to the truck and I’ll pay for the groceries?”

  “Come on,” Marcia said, casting a narrowed look at Mrs. Alvarez who was now speaking in rapid-fire Spanish. “We already scanned everything and have it bagged up front.”

  Ethan followed the owner of the market to the cash register and didn’t even ask what was in the two shopping carts. He just wanted to get out of there and get Monica and her grandmother home.

  When he got to the parking lot, Gran was already in the backseat. Her lips were moving, but no
sound came out as she slouched against the armrest and stared vacantly out the window.

  “Oh my gosh,” Monica said when she saw all the bags in the two carts he towed behind him. “Why in the world was she buying so much food? I don’t even want to know how much money I owe you for all that.”

  Ethan was glad he’d crumpled up the receipt and shoved it deep into his coat pocket on the way outside. He doubted Monica had an extra two hundred dollars lying around to pay him back. Not that he’d let her.

  “We can figure all that out later.” Ethan jerked his head toward the cab of his truck. “How’s she doing?”

  “Exhausted.” Monica reached into one of the carts to haul out a paper bag. “Every time she has an episode it takes a lot out of her, physically.”

  Ethan lowered his tailgate and, when he took the bag of groceries from her, the backs of his fingers inadvertently grazed the underside of her breast. A current of electricity shot through his body and he dropped the bag, making a loud thunk against the metal shopping cart.

  He’d touched women before. Hell, he’d even touched Monica before and they’d pretty much been holding hands at the school all morning. But that was more out of necessity. Sort of. It was also before Marcia Duncan made it a point to suggest that their relationship was more than just friendship.

  Now, though, it was different since they were both aware of their attraction and this time the accidental contact through her wool coat sent waves up one of his arms and down the other. The blush rising over her neck told him that she’d felt the same sensation. In fact, Monica refused to look at him as they finished loading the rest of the bags into the truck, which was a sure sign that his touch had equally affected her.

  And that made him feel pretty damn good.

  * * *

  Their house was only a mile away from the store, yet Gran was lightly snoring by the time Ethan pulled into the driveway. Monica turned around in her seat to wake her grandmother, but Ethan put his finger to his mouth. “Let her sleep. I can carry her upstairs.”

  Seeing her tiny and frail grandmother cradled in Ethan’s arms would have been touching if it hadn’t reminded Monica of the way someone would carry a child. It broke Monica’s heart to sit back and watch such a strong woman grow increasingly dependent with each passing day.

  Leading the way to Gran’s bedroom, Monica pulled the quilted cover back so that he could get her sleeping grandmother settled on the bed. She reached down to unbuckle the strap of Gran’s tap shoe and gasped at the maroon-colored bruise on the papery thin skin underneath.

  “Looks like a blood blister,” Ethan whispered. “How do you think it happened?”

  “Hard to say. She usually gets them just by bumping into something. But the rest of her feet are all purplish and raw—like she maybe walked all the way to the store.”

  Monica’s car was still at the café and most of the nearby neighbors knew better than to give her grandmother a ride when she was dressed like this. Thankfully, some of her neighbors tended to stop by and check in on Gran because they knew Monica couldn’t afford a full-time caregiver when she was at work. She never would’ve been able to manage it without all the added help. Although, she had to wonder if she was managing anything anymore.

  “Do you need me to help up here or should I bring the groceries in?” Ethan’s fingers quivered slightly before he shoved them in his pockets.

  The guy was definitely itching to get out of here. Not that she could blame him. To an outsider, Gran’s behavior must seem totally crazy. “If you could just set the bags on the front porch, I’ll get them from there.”

  Just like two days ago, Monica carefully repacked the dance shoes in their box and pulled the quilt up over her grandmother. Also, just like two days ago, when she returned downstairs, she found Ethan in her kitchen—his coat tossed over a chair as he put three cartons of eggs in the refrigerator.

  He glanced at her when she entered, but didn’t stop what he was doing. “I wasn’t sure where everything went, so I guessed. The good news is that you won’t be running out of pickles anytime soon.”

  He nodded toward the open pantry cabinet with an entire shelf dedicated to duplicate jars of the same dill variety and Monica sighed. “Gran is always afraid of running out of certain things. The crazy thing is that she doesn’t even like pickles, so they just sit there until I can go through and sneak a few containers out at a time. Same thing with the diet root beer and the grape jelly. I’m worried that the people who run the canned food drives are going to ask me to stop donating so often.”

  “That explains the stash of Oreos I found hidden on the top shelf.”

  “Actually, those are mine. Gran thinks store-bought cookies are a sin, but I lived on them during finals week at college and now, anytime I’m stressed, it’s like my body craves them.”

  “I’m guessing you’re stressed pretty often?” Ethan lifted two five-pound bags of rice and she tried not to stare at the way it made the muscles under his snug thermal T-shirt stretch.

  “Some days—like today—are a little rougher than others.”

  He paused. “Maybe I shouldn’t bring Trina over tonight, after all?”

  “No, Gran’ll be up and at ’em in a couple of hours. Usually, when she wakes up after having an episode, it’s like a reboot. You know how if you get too many windows running on your computer, you can shut it off and then restart it to get it working faster?” Monica waited for Ethan’s slow nod. “That’s what her brain does. So she’ll most likely remember that Trina is coming tonight and will want to make something special for dinner. It’s probably why she went to the store in the first place.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t want to disappoint Gran.” Ethan’s smile was back and Monica’s knees went as soft as the fresh loaf of white bread in her hands. “But I don’t want it to be any extra work for you.”

  “Actually, Trina will be a positive distraction for Gran. Really, it’d be helping me to have her over. Besides, who else is going to eat all this food?”

  They worked in silence emptying the rest of the bags. When they finished, Ethan lifted both of his arms over his head to stretch, causing the hem of his shirt to rise and reveal a strip of smooth, chiseled skin just above his belt line.

  Monica’s mouth went dry and her head went a little fuzzy as she imagined what it would be like to undo the first button on his fly.

  Oh boy. She really needed to get him out of her house before her imagination led her down a dangerous path. Forcing herself to swallow, she asked, “Shouldn’t you be heading back to work now?”

  He looked at the heavy-duty watch on his wrist. “Probably. Are you going to stay here to watch your grandmother or do you need a lift back to your car?”

  Monica groaned as she sank into one of the dining room chairs. “I can’t afford to miss any more work. Let me call one of our neighbors and see if they can come over and check on her a few times.”

  Mr. Simon had recently retired and Monica pulled out her cell phone to call him while Ethan sent his own boss a text.

  After hanging up, she ran upstairs to change out of her boots and Cowgirl Up T-shirt and into something more appropriate for the library. She checked on Gran one more time, planting a soft kiss on the older woman’s spotted cheek before switching on the long-range baby monitor they’d purchased a few months ago.

  Monica asked Ethan to lock up as she navigated across the snowy grass as quickly as her narrow pencil skirt would allow. Mr. Simon was already on his own porch to take the monitor’s walkie-talkie unit so he could listen to Gran while he was working in his garage.

  “That Ethan Renault?” Mr. Simon asked, nodding toward Ethan’s truck.

  “Oh. Um, yes. He’s giving me a ride back to the café to get my car.”

  “Your gran tells us you’re spending a lot of time with him lately.” Mr. Simon was nice enough, but he tended to read a few too m
any true crime stories and was suspicious of anyone he hadn’t known for at least twenty years.

  “I wouldn’t say a lot...”

  “Heard you went down to Boise with him to go shopping.”

  “News travels fast.” As usual, Monica wanted to add. “But did you also hear we went with his eleven-year-old daughter?”

  “Might’ve heard something about that. My wife thinks he’s in the market for a new mom for his little girl. But I told Deb that everyone in town knows he was interested in you long before the child showed up—”

  “Okay, well I better get going, Mr. Simon. Call me when Gran wakes up.”

  When Monica climbed into Ethan’s truck, her fingers fumbled with the seat belt buckle as she kept replaying Mr. Simon’s words about everyone thinking Ethan was interested in her. Her neighbor, though, was also a known conspiracy theorist who’d once questioned whether the government could listen in on the baby monitor, so she shouldn’t give his illogical opinion another thought.

  “Here,” Ethan said, putting his hand over hers. Her skin hummed to life, just like it had when he’d accidentally brushed against her breast in the parking lot at the market. And when he’d spontaneously grabbed her hand for reassurance in the elementary school hallway before that. He snapped the metal mechanism into place, allowing his thumb to trace over hers afterward. “It can be tricky sometimes.”

  She stared at his tanned, callused fingers, mesmerized by the slow and gentle strokes he made against the ridge of her knuckle and all the way to her crescent-shaped nail.

  Pull away, her brain told her.

  Touch him back, her lower parts dared her.

  Fortunately, her brain won out, but not until he’d made his way all the way to the tender flesh of her wrist. Her elbow hit the hard part of the glove box because she’d jerked her arm back so quickly.

  He gave her a knowing smile, but instead of talking about what had just happened, Ethan thankfully put the truck in gear. When they turned onto Snowflake Boulevard, he asked, “How long do you think your gran will sleep?”