Sights on the SEAL: A Secret Baby Romance

by Alexis Abbott

  As I reveal myself and the man gets a full view of just how massive I am, his eyes widen. I give him a quick assessment. He might be an intimidating man himself, if I weren’t around. He hasn’t shaved in what looks like years, a scraggly brown beard with streaks of gray running down to his chest. He’s wearing filthy blue jeans and a red plaid shirt with suspenders, and the shotgun he’s holding is clearly used for hunting turkey rather than killing humans, but I suspect it would do a good job of scaring off any officials who came snooping around his property.

  “Is that so?” he says, keeping the gun trained on me even as I step out into the open, to Becca’s dismay. “And just what is a Yankee with a military service record doing this far north?”

  “Just trying to settle down on some land of my own with the woman I love,” I answer, my voice utterly calm and confident as I look him right in the eye. “Trying to leave the past behind me.”

  He glares at me long and hard, those icy eyes judging my case as I stand there before the grizzled old man. After a long few moments, he raises his gun, putting a hand on a hip and smirking.

  “Well now, I reckon that’s something I can empathize with. Call me Jones. Put that pistol away and come on in, can’t have you traipsing around blind outside.”

  Jones heads indoors, and I smile down at Becca, who’s giving me an incredulous look. “Did… did that just happen?” she whispers as she comes up to my side, and I hug her to me. “How did you know you could talk him down like that, Adrian?”

  “Men like him who are Canadian-born have a thick accent you can recognize,” I say simply, leading her towards the porch. “But him? I’d guess he’s from somewhere around Pennsylvania. He’s American.”

  Becca’s eyes widen in understanding as I follow Jones indoors, where I see him tending to a cast-iron pot of what smells like the some kind of stew that smells better than anything I’ve smelled since getting back home.

  “Good timing,” Jones grunts, “venison’s fresh. Don’t have seats for three, m’afraid.”

  The interior of the house is about what I’d imagine. He’s done a lot of woodwork by hand on the interior, setting up his own table, a cut stump as a seat, a few racks for drying herbs and salted meat, and so on. There’s a crackling fireplace at the far end of the house, and the bed is covered in animal pelts, probably cured by hand. A true woodsman.

  And as I glance at the table where the meat in the stew was cut up not long ago, my suspicions are confirmed — the knife laying there is unmistakably US military issue.

  “Thanks, Jones,” I say, standing still in the middle of the house while Becca walks around curiously, taking in the rustic sights all around her. It makes me happy to see a sparkle of pleased interest in her eyes as she looks at it all. I was worried she’d be too accustomed to city living to enjoy this kind of place.

  Unfortunately, I quickly noticed there was no phone – or electricity – in his home, and I know better than to ask. Someone who wants to live off the grid doesn’t want telemarketers calling at dinner, and a recluse like Jones wouldn’t take kindly to someone seeming to look down on his way of living.

  “I suppose it would be presumptuous to ask what brings another American like you all the way up here,” I add.

  “It would,” Jones chuckles as he brings us a pair of hand-carved wooden bowls full of the savory stew, which Becca digs into immediately, ravenous. “But I reckon I can make an exception for a SEAL.”

  I glance around the place after accepting the bowl with a curt nod. “Appreciated. Sorry to spook you like that.”

  “Ya didn’t spook me,” he grunts, taking his own portion and taking a seat at the makeshift table, “I can hear something unusual coming through these woods for miles. Figured you were cops, based on how quiet you moved, but this makes a little more sense. That gun tells me you’re not just wandering out here, though,” he adds, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.

  “We’re on the move with a rough crowd on our tail,” I admit, “but they’re not woodsmen. Bikers. If they come through this neck of the woods, you’ll hear them from even further than us.”

  He gives a thoughtful nod, and though he doesn't show it, I can sense a hint of appreciation in the warning. This old veteran isn’t as well-defended as he lets himself on to be, especially against a whole crew of mobsters.

  “And what’d you do to piss off that crowd?” he rumbles.

  “Brought the war back home with me,” I say in a low tone, glancing out the window. I see a hint of sympathy sparkle in the man’s haggard eyes. He doesn’t nod, but digs into his food for a few moments before speaking again.

  “Figures. I get my ass all the way out here, but somehow, it always spills back over.”

  “You’re not old enough for Korea,” I comment, looking him over. “Let me guess — Vietnam?”

  I see the man’s hand tighten around his spoon, but he gives the faintest of nods. For a moment, as he gazes into the fire, I can see memories flashing before his eyes in the same way they flash before mine in the still of the night sometimes.

  “Army,” he says. Becca is watching him from across the room, her eyes full of sympathy that I know the veteran doesn’t want. “Got shipped out with a handful of other teenagers like me. We were about to start college or some shit, I don’t remember that well. Only one of us who knew what he was doing was our lieutenant. Sniper caught him the first hour we were out in the field.”

  He gives a grim smile as he looks up at me.

  “See, folks like you, you’re lucky. They teach you how to survive in the jungle for a few months with nothin’ but a knife and a handful of diseases. Me, I got by on dumb luck. Guess living like this became the only thing I could do,” he says ruefully, looking around at his rough living space.

  “I hear that,” I say after finishing off my food. Becca is still, listening to us speak about a life I’m glad she’ll never have to know. “Strange as it is, traipsing around the woods like this almost feels more like home than a new house would. You get used to the wilderness.”

  He gives a chuckle, looking out the window. “Well, that, and staying out in the woods makes you feel less homeless than the city streets back home.”

  I nod, and the two of us share a silent moment together, wordlessness sometimes a better medium for our experiences than anything else. Veteran support is bad now, but it was even worse for men like Jones back in the Vietnam era. Those boys got drafted and thrust back into society without the help they needed, left to fend for themselves in a world that had moved on.

  No wonder so many of them chose to live out in the wilds like this.

  “Sometimes, I think about a few of my friends who deserted to Canada to dodge the draft,” he muses. “Reckon a little regret that I didn’t do the same is what brings me up here, to answer your question.”

  “When the world turns its back on you, you do what you need to to get by,” I say, looking up at Becca, who’s watching me with shining eyes. She’s seen her share of action, I know, but she was lucky enough to get out before the scars really had a chance to take form.

  “Anyhow, you say you’re headed for the next town over,” Jones says, standing up once we’ve eaten. He strides to a window on the opposite side of the cabin, and he points north. “There’s a railway that runs about a mile north from here. It heads straight to Collingwood. Little town, not much to it. But if you’re after civilization, that’s your best bet.”

  Becca looks confused a moment, glancing between me and Jones. “But it doesn’t stop out in the middle of the woods.”

  Jones chuckles, shaking his head. “No, sweetheart, it don’t. Hope your man here knows how to jump. You’re roughing it out here.”

  “I’ve got you covered,” I say, casting a wink at Becca with a smile.

  Jones glances between us with a questioning look, and I smile at him, putting my arm around Bex. He grunts and smiles, shaking his head. “You harden yourself so long, you forget what it looks like to be soft with someone,
” he muses at us. “But hey, you two look like you’ve got a good thing going on, I can tell that much. Keep each other safe out there. That’s the only advice that’s ever been worth its shit to me, all my life.”

  “Thanks, Jones,” says Becca, and before long, we’re heading out of the house and marching north again, not wanting to lose time.

  A few minutes later, we reach a steep incline, and I’m leading the way around a rocky path over a deep ravine. It’s been steady going, and we haven’t said much since leaving Jones behind. Becca finally breaks the silence.

  “Hey, Adrian,” she says softly. “What I saw back there between you and Jones, talking about combat…”

  “Yeah?”

  She hesitates a moment. “I know you’ve got scars that go deeper than anything I could hope to understand,” she says, her voice quieted yet strong. “You’re stronger than I could ever be. I know I can help you when I can, but…”

  I can sense her thoughts, and I glance back at her, taking her hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. “Bex, stop right there. Don’t think for a second that just because you haven’t been through the same hell as me that you aren’t the most important thing in my life.”

  She opens her mouth to speak, then shuts it again, and I continue.

  “It’s important for trauma victims to be able to talk about their experiences,” I say, “whether it’s you and me or anyone else who’s gone through those nightmares. But the last thing I want is for you to devalue what you are to me. You’re my anchor, baby,” I say, smiling, and her eyes shine with admiration.

  After a few moments, she speaks. “I guess I just wasn’t used to seeing you so open like that,” she says, but smiles. “It was nice. Adrian, I know you probably think you need to hide certain parts of you. Everyone who’s seen combat has had to… to change something about themselves. Like a mask. But I just wanted to tell you I-”

  There’s a shift in the rocks under us, and Becca’s voice is suddenly cut off. I spin around in time to see her wide eyes as the breath leaves her. Her body is falling back as the ground gives out from under her, and below her is nothing but dozens of feet of sheer rock.

  My body lunges out for her, heedless of my own safety as my hand reaches out for her as I hear her cry out my name.

  Rebecca

  The world has simply disappeared from beneath my feet, and I scream in terror, feeling that the end is definitely near. My arms reach up, scrambling for something to hold onto as one of the backpacks fall down the cliff. It hits against a couple branches that jut out from the rock before hitting the ground way below.

  My feet are scraping at the almost sheer decline of the rocky bluff, chipping off tiny chunks of rock and clay as I flounder for a foothold or handhold. In one violent instant, I learn what it feels like to have your entire life play out before your eyes like some kind of shoddily edited, staccato-frame film reel.

  Running along the babbling creek as a child, a long stick in my hands dragging the surface of the clear water. Lying in bed watching the frightening shapes of tree branch shadows waving and swaying on my ceiling during a thunderstorm. Walking across the stage at my high school graduation ceremony, the stiff toe of my dress shoes catching on a warp in the wood and causing me to stumble in front of the whole congregation. Laughing with my college friends at three in the morning in my little, cramped dorm room as we celebrate finally finishing our end-of-year exams. Staring out the tiny window of a helicopter as I’m flown over the desert, my stomach twisting and turning with anxiety and anticipation. The first time I saw Adrian’s bright green eyes from across that crowded bazaar in Afghanistan, when my heart skipped a beat and my body flushed hot, then cold, then hot again.

  The sensation of holding my newborn daughter in my arms for the first time, when I was drenched in sweat and so exhausted I could barely speak. Maya’s pink little face blinking up at me with wonder in her wide, beautiful eyes.

  Adrian standing in the doorway of my hotel room in Mississauga just days ago, an overwhelming, yet indescribable tidal wave of emotion lapping between us even as we stared at each other without words. The memory of being swept into his arms, the undeniable feeling of coming home.

  And it’s all over, isn’t it?

  I’m falling into the steep ravine.

  But just when I’m beginning to accept that I’m a goner, two powerful hands wrap themselves around my wrists tightly, a vice grip that feels both shocking and familiar at the same time. I glance upward to see that Adrian has grasped hold of my arms, the expression on his face horrified and determined in equal measure.

  “Don’t let go!” he shouts, starting to hoist me up. “I’ve got you, Bex!”

  Still in a daze, I watch as he pulls me up from an otherwise imminent death or at least severe injury, lifting me gently as though I weigh nothing at all. His strength and ability to remain calm and focused in such a harrowing situation surprise me still. As he tugs me up over the brink of the ledge, I collapse on top of him, trembling and breathless. Adrian throws his arms around me and pulls me close to his chest, covering the top of my head with fervent kisses.

  “You… you saved me,” I gasp, tears choking my throat.

  “God, Becca, I could have almost lost you. I thought I was going to watch you die,” Adrian whispers, pulling me up to cup my cheeks and stare intently into my face. His jaw is tensing and his eyes are fierce, vivid green, and intense with emotion. “You mean more to me than anything, and I almost watched you disappear.”

  “I’m sorry,” I cried, my voice breaking over the syllables as I fold into his touch. “The bag. The guns you took, they were all in there,” I whimper.

  His thumb finds my jaw and he looks seriously into my eyes.

  “We’ll be okay, Bex. I have my pistol still, and my blade. And we’re going to call for help once we find a phone. We’ll make it through.”

  My body is shaking and cold, shivering with the fear of such a close call. Adrian kisses me passionately on the lips, his tongue pushing into his mouth as his fingers course down my jaw, my neck, my shoulders. When we finally break apart to take a deep breath, my chest is heaving and tears are rolling down my cheeks. I can’t believe I’m alive. It’s all thanks to this beautiful, powerful man that I am even around to keep breathing the sweet country air.

  “Let’s get moving,” he suggests, helping me up to my feet. I’m still a little wobbly, my legs trembling and my stomach churning. But the breeze and the beaming sun have never felt so magical on my skin. I’ve never tasted such heavenly air sucked into my lungs. The lush green forest around us seems to teem with pulsating, enthusiastic life, like I can feel the very heartbeat of the wilderness pumping all around me with every springy step. I’ve never felt more mystical and exhilarated as I do now, having barely escaped an awful fate.

  “So, I hope you’re planning to stick around. Who knows what might have happened to me by now if I didn’t have you to look out for me,” I tell Adrian, falling in step beside him. He takes my hand and kisses it, holding my palm to his stubbly cheek for a moment as though to breathe in my scent.

  “It’s my fault that we’re in this mess in the first place, so it’s only fair that I keep you from falling into any other traps. I got you into this and I plan on getting both of us out alive and unscathed,” he declares firmly.

  I smile up at him. “I have no doubt in you. I believe in you completely, Adrian.”

  “And you… Becca, I can’t imagine my life without you in it. I refuse to live in a world empty of your beauty and spark. You make me feel things I never thought I would be able to feel again. After everything I saw, everything I did, when I was a soldier… well, let’s just say I felt like I didn’t deserve happiness. Or love. But you have opened my eyes. For the first time, I feel hopeful. Like there is a future waiting for me beyond my years of service. These hands can do something other than destroy things— they can hold you. They can touch you and bring you joy,” he says tenderly, pulling me close as we walk through t
he woods toward what looks like a dreamy clearing in the middle of the trees.

  “Oh, your hands definitely bring me joy,” I remark cheekily, and Adrian laughs. He reaches around to slap my ass and I let out a little giggle, pretending to run away from him. He comes bolting after me and tackles me to the ground, expertly wrapping his arms around me so that his arms cushion my fall completely. We roll together in the dewy moss and tiny flowers like two rambunctious kids, carefree and totally absorbed with love.

  Adrian straddles me and leans down to press his lips against mine, his thigh shoved between my legs so that I can feel his cock hardening against my pelvis. I arch upward toward that stiff rod, rubbing against it so that I elicit a deep, appreciative groan from Adrian’s throat. My whole body thrills at the vibration of his hums and moans, and I can feel myself getting wet between my thighs.

  Adrian looks up for a moment and does a double take, then grins widely.

  “What is it?” I ask, a little breathlessly. It’s hard for me to focus on anything at the moment except for the sensation of Adrian’s shaft hard on my body.

  “We found the railroad tracks,” he replies, pointing over my head. I tilt my head backwards to see the dark, heavy metal rails peeking out several yards away from a patch of overgrown weeds.

  “Good for us,” I comment, reaching up to pull Adrian back down to me. I don’t know if it’s just the usual animalistic attraction I feel for him, or if my brush with death has ignited a new, adrenaline-fueled spark of desire within me, but suddenly nothing in the world matters to me but my need to feel Adrian close. To feel him inside me.

  Without missing a beat, Adrian tears off my shirt. I kick off my shoes and he pulls my denim shorts down my legs and drops them to the side, then hooks a finger under the hem of my panties to yank them back, leaving my wet cunt exposed to the country air. I inhale sharply as he begins to flick his fingertips along my damp slit, his thumb tracing gentle circles around that tight bud of nerves so that I’m moaning and crying out for release. But I don’t want to give it up just yet— I want to feel Adrian inside me when I come.