The tyke nodded.
“Then consider it your new home.”
Hell, he wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.
She eyed Hatch as if she didn’t want him making those kinds of promises. Quite frankly, he didn’t give a rip what she wanted. If she was going to dump her kid on him, then he was going to have some say in how the boy was raised. And he was going to give that kid the stability he’d been reared without.
Mommy’s friend Hatch, my ass.
MADDIE HAD DINNER waiting for them when they returned to the boarding house. Afterward, it was time to get down to the legalities of the situation. Ryder was in another room coloring in front of the TV, and Maddie was doing her best to keep the kid out of the adult conversation.
Peaches had brought that folder with her, the contents of which were now spread on the dining room table. There were the papers he needed to sign and return. And the papers he needed to keep.
He picked up Ryder’s birth certificate.
Father Unknown.
“You ever going to tell me the story behind this one?”
“It’s none of your business.” She snatched the document from him and put it in the keep pile she had going for him. Along with the kid’s medical card and the log-in information to access his medical record online.
“I need the guy’s name,” he said, trying to be practical.
“I’m not giving you his name,” she said. “I don’t even know where he lives.”
She dismissed the subject and moved on.
There were lists—plenty of them.
Ryder’s routine. Favorite things. Favorite foods.
His birthday. And when he should be enrolled in preschool. Inoculations—the ones he’d had and the ones due.
Her contact information.
Step by step instructions for Skype.
Oh, she had plenty of demands, too. She wanted him to get connected. Purchase a cell phone with picture and video capabilities so he could send her photos. Lots of photos. And videos.
She wanted him to get a laptop. And an internet service provider. As if there weren’t enough ways for them to stay connected, she’d printed out a “how to” for every social network out there.
And she was willing to pay for it all.
He didn’t want her money. And he didn’t want her help getting “connected.” He’d had all the latest technology as a Navy SEAL. And while it had served a purpose at the time, he much preferred his low-tech existence now.
Then the real fight started. She’d given him limited power of attorney over medical decisions for her son and over her finances.
“Keep your damn money. How much can one kid eat?” he growled.
“I’ve already opened a joint bank account online in our names. Half my paycheck is going into it for Ryder’s care. All I’m asking you to do is sign and return the signature card so you can access it. Kids cost money.”
Six months into their marriage they should have been talking about divorce. Not commingling funds.
“And no guns. I’m serious, Hatch. Not anywhere near my child.”
“I grew up around guns. I’m not going to suddenly forget everything I know about gun safety!”
His frustration at this point was cumulative.
They were going page by page though her parenting plan, and were getting down to the nitty-gritty.
Parenting temporarily was one thing. He didn’t want the job permanently.
“Accidents happen,” she said.
“Don’t lecture me.” He crossed his arms.
“I’m not trying to lecture you.”
“No, you’re trying to deflect from the real issue here with all this garbage.” He picked up the fifty-some pages. “Which is that you don’t really have a plan. I’m it. So you tell me what I’m supposed to do if you don’t make it back!”
He about raised the roof with his raised voice. And there she was, struggling to remain calm in the face of his anger. “Just do the best you can,” she said. “If you can’t—” Her voice broke. “Just find him a good home. I’ve spoken with Will and Mia—”
“I want his father’s name.” Hatch kept his voice even.
“You are not sending my son to live with that man.”
“Not if I don’t have to.”
“Not ever!”
Not only was she stubborn, she was also adamant. That set alarm bells off in his head. He’d assumed the sex with Ryder’s father had been consensual. “You need to tell me what’s going on here. Did he hurt you?”
She scoffed at his concern. “He was a prick, okay? But he didn’t hurt me in the way you’re thinking.”
“Then he has a right to know he’s a father.”
“What makes you think I didn’t tell him?”
“I know you.”
“You don’t know me, Hatch. You don’t know me at all.”
He knew that she was hot about something. He was getting a glimpse of that redhead temper in a way he never had. “I know you, darlin’,” he said, trying not to lose his.
She shook her head. “I told him. As soon as I found out I was pregnant I told him. But just like you, he didn’t want anything to do with me or my son,” she accused.
“Where the hell is that coming from? What have I ever done except be there for you and your kid?”
“All right, you two,” Maddie interrupted. “I’ve heard just about enough. Either kiss and make up or take the fight outside!”
“Mommy,” the kid whined.
“Now look what you’ve done,” Angela charged.
What he’d done? Hatch took one glance at her comforting the kid, shot her parenting plan across the table at her and stormed from the room. There’d be no comforting the kid if she didn’t make it home.
HIS AUNT FOUND HIM A half hour later, brooding out on the back porch with a beer in his hand. “Clayton, I’ve never been more ashamed of you in my life. You can’t send that little gal off to war worried about her son.”
He continued to stare out at nothing in particular. “I’ve never been more ashamed of myself.” He tipped back his beer. He deserved the lecture that was coming his way.
“She can’t see past your anger to the frustration, if anger is all you’re showing her. You have to learn to let people in, Clay.”
“Let ’em in where? I’ve got nothing in me.”
“Oh, yes, you do,” Maddie scolded. “You feel it. You just don’t know how to recognize it. Or what to do with it. Would it kill you to admit you care what happens to her?”
He snorted at his aunt’s simplification. He barely knew Angela Adams. But, of course he cared. He didn’t want to see her hurt. Or dead. He felt responsible for her because he’d married her. Responsible now for her son. Except he didn’t want to feel that way. He didn’t want any of it.
From his perspective, the situation wasn’t all that simple. He was angry, and justifiably so. And frustrated. Still, that didn’t give him the right to bully her.
“You owe her an apology, at least.”
He covered his embarrassment with a swig from the long-neck bottle. Finishing it made for a good excuse to hang out awhile longer. His aunt was right. He owed Angela an apology.
He wasn’t angry with her. He was angry with himself because he should have seen this coming six months ago. And stopped her then. By sticking to his guns and saying no to her proposal.
ANGELA’S ROOM WAS the first to the left at the top of the stairs, and his was the first to the right. As he climbed the steps, he could hear her reading to her son.
Once he got to the landing he realized she wasn’t the one reading. Not right then. She was explaining a recordable book to Ryder, letting him push the buttons, and they were listening together.
Hatch didn’t want to disturb them, so he leaned against his bedroom door and eavesdropped.
“Mommy, I don’t wanna stay with Hatch. He’s mean.”
“He’s not mean, honey. He’s got a soft spot right here.”
&
nbsp; Hatch didn’t know what soft spot she was referring to, but her words produced a three-year-old’s giggles. And made Hatch wish he was the least bit ticklish.
“Besides, he isn’t mad at you. He’s mad at Mommy.”
“What’d you do?”
“It’s everything I didn’t do,” she said somberly. “So you be a good boy while I’m gone and don’t give him any trouble.” More squeals sounded before mother and son settled down to reading again.
He could tell her his annoyance wasn’t due to anything thing she did or didn’t do. It was only him. Yet it was everything she did and didn’t do that got on his nerves.
She was young and inexperienced. While he felt he’d been through it all a hundred times before.
He waited until their voices faded before he moved across the hall to her door. Folding his arms across his chest, he leaned his shoulder against the doorjamb. “Hey.”
She offered him an uncertain smile. She looked tired, as if she couldn’t keep her eyes open one second longer. Stretched out on the bed, pillows piled high and books all around, she stroked her son’s hair.
Quite possibly, Hatch could be jealous of a three-year-old at this moment. “Can I put him to bed for you?” he volunteered, stepping into the room. Maddie had set the boy up next door, in a room with twin beds.
Angela glanced at her son. “No.” She shook her head. “I want him with me.” As if it were her last night on earth, and the boy was the only one she wanted to spend it with.
“I’ll take good care of him,” Hatch promised.
“I never had any doubt.”
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” The next morning Hatch stood there covering himself with the floral shower curtain—his aunt’s choice, not his.
“Going tinkle.” Pajama bottoms around his ankles, the kid swung his feet back and forth from his perch.
“I can see that.” Hatch grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist. “I meant what are you doing in my bathroom?”
Just as casually, he reached for his eye patch and slipped it back on. Old SEAL habits died hard. Never let anything important get out of reach.
“Mommy locks the door.”
“Ah, good to know for future reference. Hurry up and finish your business.”
“I am hurrying up.” But the little boy didn’t appear to be in any hurry at all. “Hatch, is your tattoo the kind that washes off or stays on?”
“The kind that stays on.”
“I have a tattoo.” The kid lifted his shirt over his tummy. “It washes off,” he said, then pulled his shirt back down.
“Sure enough,” Hatch agreed, though he didn’t recognize the faded and peeling character. And still the kid didn’t go. “Is tinkle all you’ve got to do?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Then why don’t you stand up?”
The kid’s blank stare gave him the answer. Because he was a little boy who’d been brought up by females. Hatch lifted the kid to his feet, raised the toilet seat and pointed. “Now try.”
Hatch turned on the tap and listened.
Heard the tinkle. Heard the flush. Turned around as the kid hitched up his pajama bottoms. Then Ryder walked over to the wastebasket, dumped it upside down, and brought it to the sink to use as a step stool. Hatch didn’t say anything, just looked at the trash on the floor and knew a moment of panic.
Kids were messy.
How was he going to handle that? He’d become regimented in his own life, overcompensating for the lack of discipline in his mother’s. He liked things neat and tidy.
On schedule and running on time.
Ryder climbed onto the upturned basket and washed his hands, which he promptly shook off and wiped on his pajamas. Hatch leaned over to pass him a hand towel.
The boy watched him shave for a moment. “What are you doing?”
“Getting rid of my whiskers. Hold out your hand.” Hatch pressed a little shaving gel into the boy’s palm. The boy smeared it on his face. Hatch ran the comb through the gel. This was how his grandpa Henry had taught him to shave.
Ryder carefully went through the same motions. “Hatch, how come you wear a patch?”
“I lost my eye.” Hatch pulled back when the kid reached up for a peek. “Hey,” he scolded.
“Where did you lose it? Do you want me to help you find it?”
Okay, wrong track. Try again.
“I hurt my eye.”
“How did you hurt your eye, Hatch?”
“Are these questions going to go on forever?”
“Hatch, did you know that if you have a broken heart, you can eat a candy heart to fix it?”
“No, I didn’t know that. Who told you that nonsense?”
“My mom.” Ryder dug into his pajama pocket and extracted two candy hearts. One said Kiss Me and the other Hugs. From the other pocket he produced a gummy worm. “I don’t have any eyeballs,” he said sadly. “Do you want a gummy worm?”
“It’s not my worm that needs fixing, kid.”
“THERE YOU ARE.” Angela had followed her son’s voice into Hatch’s bathroom. “Are you bothering Hatch?”
“Nooo,” he said coyly.
“Yes, you are.” She picked him up for a hug, then noticed the pile of trash on the floor and the upturned wastebasket. “Is that your mess? Go clean it up.”
She patted her son on the butt to hurry him along.
“Sorry ’bout that,” she murmured, averting her gaze from Hatch’s bare torso. He wore nothing but a towel and a couple tattoos. She’d never seen them before. Hadn’t even known he had ink down his arms. His broad shoulders and bare chest was the last image she needed to take with her to Afghanistan. She’d had a hard enough time falling asleep last night after everything left unsaid following their fight.
“Not a problem.” He continued shaving. “I’ll be done in a minute,” he said, watching her watch him in the mirror. “Was there something else you needed?”
Shaking her head, she glanced down at her boots.
She was in uniform. Ready to go.
But in no hurry to leave.
“Come on, pumpkin, let’s get you dressed,” she said to Ryder. He jumped up into her arms.
“I’m not a pukin,” he said.
“You’re not?”
“Nooo.”
“Are you a carrottop?”
“No, Mommy,” he said seriously. “Can we go get some gummy eyeballs?”
“Not today, sweetheart.”
HATCH PARKED THE TRUCK and hefted her seabag out of the back while she unbuckled her son from his car seat. Hatch didn’t know why she’d insisted on dragging the kid to the Greyhound station. She was just postponing the inevitable.
But Ryder’s chatter all the way to the bus depot made up for the lack of conversation between Peaches and him.
“Well…” He left the word hanging. The tension in the air felt as heavy as the seabag he dropped to the curb. “Looks like your bus over there.”
A flight back to San Diego would have been faster, but he knew her aversion to planes. Plus a private with only six months in the service didn’t make much money. A bus ticket was probably all she could afford.
As she crouched to say goodbye to her son for an entire year, he wondered if she now regretted her decision to join up. Good benefits, shitty pay and shittier duty. God, how he missed it.
Or was she feeling the surge of pride that came with putting on the uniform? Going off to do your duty. And knowing that every second of your life counted for something from here on out.
“You be a good boy now.” She put on a brave front. “Mind Aunt Maddie and Hatch. You’ll have so much to do on the ranch you won’t have time to miss me. And I’ll be back before you know it. Okay?”
For a little guy with so much to jabber about earlier, he sure didn’t have much left to say. He just stood there nodding while his mother fussed over him.
“Can I get a big hug?” she asked.
The kid wrapped himself around her as though he’d
never let go. Hatch hated to be the one to spoil the moment, but the driver was loading up the last of the bags now. He shot the man a curt nod in appreciation for the extra minute given them.
“Peaches…”
She glanced over her shoulder at the bus, its motor running. Put on her biggest smile yet. Planted a succession of quick kisses all over the boy’s face, until he was squirming. Then pushed herself to her feet.
Anticipating a hissy-fit from the three-year-old, Hatch put a hand on the small shoulder to hold him back. But instead of encountering a fuss from the little boy, Hatch found a sticky hand grasping his.
Which left him with only one arm to hold her when Angela wrapped him in a hug. “Hatch,” she said. “Take good care of him for me.”
Looking into her eyes, he made that promise with a nod.
She squeezed all the air from his lungs with her shuddered breath as she whispered in his ear, “A year’s a long time to a three-year-old. Please don’t let him forget. No matter what, please don’t let him forget me.”
He felt that first tear trickle to his collar.
“Don’t worry about a thing. We’ll be fine.”
Pulling away, she sniffed back her tears and put that brave smile on again. With a quick nod, she took a couple steps backward, then turned and hurried toward the bus.
The door closed and the air brakes released almost immediately. The driver was behind schedule, Hatch supposed. As the bus backed up, he wondered how military wives did it deployment after deployment.
Left standing on the curb, holding the little one’s hand, he felt about as impotent as a man could, sending his wife off to war.
She’d worked her way to the rear of the bus and waved now.
Blew a kiss in their direction from that big back window. Hatch returned the kiss with a two-finger salute above his eye patch as she rolled out of sight.
“Hatch—” Ryder tugged on his hand “—how long is a year?”
Hatch hunkered down and roughed the little carrottop. He wasn’t going to lie to the boy. “A year is a long time.”
“That’s what I thought.” The little guy was working up to something with that trembling lip. But he didn’t cry. He opened his little fist, which held two candy hearts.
Marry Me, Marine Page 7