Seal Team Ten

by Brockmann, Suzanne

  "I helped deliver her. Did you know that?" he asked Mia.

  "Natasha?" she said. "I didn't know."

  "Lucky and I were on leave and he drove out to Arizona with me to see Sharon. She was about to have the baby, and we were about to be shipped out to the Middle East for God knows how long. She was living in this trailer park about forty miles east of Tucson. Twenty minutes after we ar­rived, she went into hard labor. The nearest hospital was back in Tucson, so we got her into my truck and drove like hell."

  He smiled. "But Sharon never does anything the easy way. She must've had the shortest labor in history. We had to pull off the road because Tasha wasn't going to wait."

  As Mia watched, Frisco was silent for a moment. She knew he was reliving that event, remembering.

  "It was incredible," he said quietly. "When that baby came out, it was... It was one of the high points of my life."

  He shook his head, the expression on his face one of wonder and awe, even after all this time. "I'd never seen a miracle before, but I saw one that day. And when Lucky put that tiny baby in my hands... She was all red and wrinkly, and so alive—this little new life, only a few seconds old."

  He glanced up at her, his smile tinged with embarrass­ment. "Sounds pretty corny, huh?"

  Mia shook her head, unable to answer him, unable to speak. It wasn't corny. It was incredibly, heart-wrenchingly sweet.

  "I held Tasha all the way to the hospital," he continued. "Sharon was out of it—which is pretty much her standard condition. So I wrapped that baby in my T-shirt and held her for what seemed like forever because she was crying, and Sharon was crying and the really stupid thing was that it was all I could do not to cry, too." He was quiet for a moment. "But I finally got Tasha quieted down. I sang to her and talked to her, promised her that the hardest part of her life was over. She'd been born, and that's always rough, but if I had anything to say about it, it was going to be a breeze for her from here on in. I told her I'd take care of her, and I'd take care of her mom, too.

  "And then we got to the hospital, and the nurses came out to take her away, and I didn't want to let her go." He forced a smile, and it made him look impossibly sad. "But I did."

  He looked down at his injured knee. "And three hours later, the CO called in all of SEAL Team Ten, and Alpha Squad shipped out on an emergency rescue mission."

  "That's when you were wounded," Mia said.

  It wasn't a question, but he glanced at her and nodded. "Yeah. That's when I was wounded." He was clenching his teeth and the muscle in the side of his jaw worked, "I didn't keep any of those promises I made to that little baby. I mean, I sent Sharon money, but..." He shook his head and forced another smile. "So I'm buying the kid a pink couch, hoping that'll make up for all those years I wasn't around." His smile became more genuine. "Lucky was going to go over with some of the guys and finish getting the place cleaned up. He'll be there to take delivery. I told him about the couch, but I'm not sure he believed me." He laughed. "He'll believe me when he sees it, huh?"

  Mia didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Every flicker of emotion on Frisco's face, every glint of pain or sorrow or joy in his eyes, every word that he spoke, every word that he shared with her filled her heart with a feeling of longing so deep, she could barely breathe.

  She loved him.

  He was everything she didn't need. His wounds were so deep and so catastrophic. She could handle his physical limitations. For her own self, she didn't give a damn whether or not he needed a cane or crutches or even a wheelchair to get around. In her mind, his emotional limitations were far more crippling. It was his emotional baggage—the bitter­ness and anger he carried with him—that had the bulk and the weight to engulf her and drag her down, too.

  Still, despite that, she loved him.

  Mia felt her eyes flood with tears, and she turned away, not wanting him to see. But he did, and he leaned forward, his eyes filled with concern.

  "Mia...?"

  She silently cursed her volatile emotions as she wiped her eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm... being silly."

  He tried to make light of it. "It is pretty silly to cry over a pink couch."

  "I'm not crying about the couch. I'm crying..." Mia made the mistake of glancing up into his eyes, and now she was trapped, unable to look away, held as much by the gen­tleness of his concern as by the fire and the intensity that was also in his gaze. "Because you've complicated my life be­yond belief," she whispered.

  He knew what she meant. He understood her unspoken message. Mia could see comprehension in his eyes, so she said the words aloud. "I'm falling in love with you, Alan."

  Frisco's heart was in his throat. He'd suspected that Mia cared, but there was a big difference between a vague sus­picion and hearing the words directly from her mouth. Falling. In love. With him.

  Dear God, was she blind? How could she possibly be falling in love with this dried husk of a man he'd become? How could beautiful, lighthearted, joyful Mia possibly love someone who wasn't whole?

  Her words should have elated him. Instead, he felt only despair. How could she love him?

  He could hear Mia's watch ticking, its second hand trav­eling full circle again and again.

  Finally she stood and crossed to the screen door, gazing out into the night as if she knew how much her softly spo­ken honesty had thrown him.

  He had to say something. He knew from the tight set of her back that she wanted him to say something, anything, but he couldn't think of a single response. "You're crazy" seemed inappropriate, as did "You're wrong."

  "Frisco?"

  He turned to see Natasha standing in the hallway. Her nightgown was several sizes too large, and it hung almost all the way down to the ground. She was holding her stuffed bear by one of its raggedy arms. Her hair was tangled around her face, and her eyes were filled with tears.

  "I can't sleep," she told him. "It's too quiet. Too noth­ing. I don't like it. I can't hear anything at all."

  Frisco glanced at Mia, who had turned back, but wouldn't meet his eyes. Man, she'd just spilled her guts to him, and he hadn't responded. He'd said nothing, done nothing. At least he had to tell her that her declaration had totally blown him away.

  "Tash, go on back into bed," he said. "I'll be there in a sec, but I need to talk to Mia first—"

  Mia interrupted him. "No, it's okay. Alan, we can talk later." She forced a smile, but her eyes looked so sad. "It was... bad timing on my part."

  She looked away, and there was silence in the room. Frisco could hear his own heart beating, and Tasha's slight snuffle and that damned ticking watch—

  The idea came to him in a flash.

  Frisco pulled himself to his feet. "Come on." He led the way back into Tasha's bedroom. The little girl followed, but Mia didn't move. He stuck his head back out the door. "You, too," he told her.

  He could see uncertainty in her eyes. "Maybe I should

  just wait out here"

  "Nope, we need you. Come on." He went back into the bedroom. "Back in bed, Tash."

  Mia stood in the doorway, letting her eyes get used to the dark. She'd been in this bedroom, helping Tasha put on her nightgown. Even though it was dark, she could identify the different shapes that were the furniture. The bed Tasha had climbed into was against one wall. Another bed was di­rectly opposite it. There was a small table and a chest of drawers, and several long windows that were open to the soft breezes of the summer night.

  Frisco was sitting on the other bed, his back against the wall. "Come here," he said to Mia quietly.

  She stepped hesitantly into the room, and he gently took her arm and pulled her down in front of him on the bed so that she was sitting between his legs, her back leaning against his chest. He looped his arms around her waist, holding her firmly in place.

  She fought him for all of a half a second before giving in to the decadently glorious feeling of his arms around her. She let her head fall back against his shoulder and allowed herself the luxury of enjoying the sen
sation of his rough chin against her temple.

  She knew she'd surprised him with her statement of love. Shoot, she'd surprised herself. But when he'd failed to re­act in any way at all, she'd assumed that unless she could somehow explain her feelings, he was intending to push her away.

  But right now, he was doing anything but pushing her away. He was holding her close.

  His lips brushed her cheek and she fought the sudden urge to cry again. Maybe the fact that she was falling in love with him didn't frighten him quite so much as she'd imagined. Maybe now that he'd had several minutes to get used to the idea, he actually liked it. Maybe...

  “Tasha thinks it's absolutely silent in here," he said, his voice raspy and warm in the cool darkness.

  "It is." The little girl sat up in the other bed.

  "Gotta lie down," Frisco told her. "This will only work if you lie down."

  She obeyed, but then popped right up again. "What are we doing?"

  "You are lying down in your bed," he told her, waiting as she did so, amusement in his voice. " We are here to check on this odd silence you claim is in this room. And it's odd because it's far from silent out in the living room. And it's sure as he—heck not silent outside the cabin."

  "It's not?" Tasha sat up again. This time she caught herself, and lay back down before Frisco could scold her.

  "No way. Shh. Lie very still and listen."

  Mia found herself holding her breath as Frisco and Tasha fell silent.

  "Man," Frisco said after a moment. "You're wrong, Tash. This is one of the noisiest rooms I've ever been in."

  The little girl sat up. "Noisy...?"

  "Lie down," he commanded. "And listen again."

  Again the silence.

  "Listen to the wind in the trees," Frisco said quietly. Mia closed her eyes, relaxing even farther into his embrace, lov­ing the sensation of his arms around her and his breath against her ear as his voice floated out across the darkness. "Listen to the way the leaves whisper together when a breeze comes through. And there's a branch—it's probably dead. It keeps bumping against the other branches, trying to shake itself free and drop to the ground. Do you hear it?"

  "Yeah," breathed Tasha.

  Mia did, too. But just a moment ago, she hadn't even been aware of the noise at all. Another gust swept by, and she heard the sound of the leaves in the wind. Whispering, Frisco had said. His descriptions were poetic in their accu­racy.

  "And the crickets," Frisco said. "Hear them? And there must be some kind of locust out there, too, making their music, putting on a show. But they'll hush right up if a stranger comes around. The story the insects tell is the loudest when their music stops."

  He was quiet again.

  "Someone must be camping around the other side of the lake," he said quietly. "I can hear a dog barking—whin­ing, probably tied up somewhere. And—shhh! Listen to that rumble. Must be train tracks not too far from here. Freight's coming through."

  Sure enough, in the distance, Mia could hear the faint, lonely sound of a train whistle.

  It was amazing. Although she made her living teaching U.S. history, she considered herself an artist, raised around artists, brought up surrounded by artists' sensitivities and delicate senses of detail. She'd never be able to paint like her mother, but she wasn't a half-bad photographer, able to catch people's quirks and personalities on film. On top of being an artist, she considered herself a liberal feminist, in tune with her world, always willing to volunteer at the local church homeless shelter, sensitive to the needs of others. She was a modern, sensitive, artistic, creative woman—who had never taken the time to truly stop and listen to the sounds of the night.

  Unlike this big, stern-faced, gun-carrying, flesh-and-blood version of G.I. Joe, who ignored physical pain as if his heart and soul were made of stone—who had the pa­tience to listen, and the sensitivity to hear music in the sound of the wind in the trees.

  Mia had been amazed at herself for falling for a rough, tough professional soldier. But there was so much more to this man besides the roughness and toughness. So much more.

  "The night is never silent," Frisco said. "It's alive, al­ways moving, always telling a story. You just have to learn to hear its voice. You've got to learn how to listen. And once you learn how to listen, it's always familiar, always like be­ing home. At the same time, it's never boring. The voice might always be the same, but the story it tells is always changing."

  Another breeze shook the leaves, carrying with it the sound of that distant dog barking. It was remarkable.

  "And that's only outside the cabin," he told them. "In­side, there's a whole pile of noises, too. Inside the cabin, you become part of the night's story."

  "I can hear you breathe," Tasha said. Her voice sounded sleepy and thick.

  "That's right. And I can hear you breathing. And Mia, too. She keeps holding her breath, thinking that'll help her be more quiet, but she's wrong. Every time she exhales and then sucks in another big breath, it's ten times as loud. If you don't want to be heard, you need to breathe slowly and shallowly. You need to become part of the night, breathing along with its rhythms."

  Mia could hear the distinct sound of his lips curving up into a smile. She didn't need to see his face to know it was one of his funny half smiles.

  "Every now and then I can hear Mia's stomach rumble. I don't know, Tash—maybe we didn't feed her enough at dinner," Frisco continued. "And I can also hear the sec­ond hand on her watch. It's making a hell—heck—of a racket."

  "Maybe it's your watch that you hear," Mia countered softly, feeling much too noisy. Her breathing, her stomach, her watch...next he was going to tell her that he could hear her heart beating. Of course, due to her present position, pressed firmly against him, her heart was pounding loudly enough to be heard across the entire state.

  "My watch has LED's," he breathed into her ear. "It's silent."

  She had to ask. "Where did you learn to listen like this?"

  He was quiet for a moment. "I don't know. I did a lot of night details, I guess. When it's just you and the night, you get to know the night pretty well."

  Mia lowered her voice. "I've never known anyone like you."

  His arms tightened around her. "The feeling is...very mutual."

  "Are you gonna kiss?" Tasha's voice was very drowsy sounding.

  Frisco laughed. "Not in front of you, kid."

  "Thomas told me if you and Mia had a baby, it would be my cousin."

  "Thomas is certainly full of all kinds of information, isn't he?" Frisco released his hold on Mia, giving her a gentle push up and off the bed. "Go to sleep now, Tash. Remem­ber, you've got the night keeping you company, all right?" He picked his crutches up off the floor.

  "All right. I love you, Frisco."

  "Love you, too, Tash."

  Mia turned away as Frisco bent over the little girl's bed and gave her a quick kiss.

  "Sit with me for a minute?" the little girl asked.

  Mia heard Frisco sigh. "All right. Just for a minute."

  Mia went into the living room, listening to wind in the trees, listening to the sound of her own breathing, the tick­ing of her watch. She stood at the screen door, looking out into the night, aware of the flames from the candles leaping and flickering behind her.

  It may have been one minute or ten, but when she finally heard Frisco follow her out into the living room, she didn't turn around. She was aware of him watching her, aware that he didn't move any closer, but instead stopped, not even crossing to sit down on the couch.

  She felt nervous at his silence, and she kicked herself for letting her feelings slip out the way they had. She hadn't been thinking. If she had been, she would've remembered that love wasn't on his agenda.

  Still, the way he'd held her as they'd sat together in Tasha's room...

  She took a deep breath and turned to face him. "I didn't mean to scare you. You know... Before."

  "You didn't." He shook his head, as if he were aware he was
n't telling her the truth. "You did. I just... I don't..." It was his turn to take a deep breath. "Mia, I don't under­stand."

  "What part are you having problems with?" she asked, taking refuge in her usual cheekiness. "The part where I said I love you, or... Well, no, that was the only part, wasn't it?"

  He didn't laugh. He didn't even crack a smile. "A few days ago, you didn't even like me."

  "No. A few days ago, I didn't like the person I thought you were," she told him. "I was wrong, though—you're incredible. I meant it when I said I've never met anyone like you. You're funny and smart and—"

  "Dammit, stop," he said, pushing himself forward on his crutches, but then stopping in the middle of the room as if he were unsure of where to go, what to do. He ran one hand through his hair, leaving it messy—a visual testament to his frustration.

  "Why? It's true. You're wonderful with Tasha. You're gentle and patient and kind, yet at the same time I don't doubt your ability to be anything but gentle in more ag­gressive situations. You're a soldier with an absolute code of honor. You're sensitive and sweet, yet you've got a will­power that's made of stone. You're—"

  "Physically challenged," Frisco ground out through clenched teeth. "Don't leave that out."

  Chapter 14

  “Yes, you're physically challenged, but you're also strong enough to deal with it." Mia took a step toward Frisco, and then another and another until she was close enough to touch him, until she was touching him.

  When Mia touched him, it was so easy to forget about everything. When she touched him, the entire world went away. He pulled her toward him, needing the sanctuary of her kiss, but afraid she might take his silence for agree­ment. He stopped himself and forced himself to pull back.

  "Mia, you don't understand. I—"

  She kissed him. She kissed him, and he was lost. He was lost, but he was also suddenly, miraculously found.

  She was fire in his arms, fire beneath his lips. She was an explosion of all that he wanted—only she wasn't out of reach. She was right here, well within his grasp.

  Frisco heard himself groan, heard his crutches clatter to the floor, heard her answering sound of satisfaction as he kissed her harder now—deeper, longer, hotter kisses filled with all of his need and desire.