A SEAL's Secret Baby

by Laura Marie Altom

  By the night Ellie bundled up Pia for her preschool’s Thanksgiving program, Deacon had become a welcome addition to both their lives. In the play, Pia’s role was a turkey. It’d taken Deacon six hours Monday night to get all her feathers just right. He was supposed to be meeting them at the school, and no matter how hard she fought to deny it, Ellie looked forward to seeing him. To being on the receiving end of his smile. To watching him interact with their daughter.

  The school, filled to the rafters with running, laughing preschoolers and their doting families, had been decorated in a full-on Pilgrim theme complete with cornucopia cutouts and cornstalks and the scent of dozens of pumpkin pies.

  “Where’s Daddy?” Pia asked.

  “He’ll be here soon.” I hope.

  Ellie tried holding on to her daughter, but once she found her teacher and a group of friends, she tottered off, giggling and holding hands. Ellie made small talk with a few moms, but what she most wanted was to see Deacon strolling down the crowded hall.

  By the time the principal announced the program’s start, Deacon still hadn’t arrived.

  Ellie should’ve been disappointed for Pia, but in reality, she was the one who’d spent extra time with her hair and makeup, and changed clothes three times before finding just the right sweater, jean and boot combo.

  Casting one last glance over her shoulder before entering the auditorium, she saw him.

  Pulse racing, she felt voyeuristic watching him remove his leather jacket and gloves. His hair had grown out again, and was a dark mess. His square jaw sported a day’s growth. He still wore black cargo pants, boots and a T-shirt, and every woman present had eyes on him. The fact that he chose to make a beeline for Ellie turned her stomach into a somersault festival.

  “Hey, gorgeous.” Casually clasping her waist, he bent to deliver a platonic kiss to her cheek. Why was she wishing for more?

  “Hey, yourself. Glad you could come.”

  “Looked dicey for a bit, but considering the fancy hair you’re sporting, it was worth the effort to make it through my workout in half the usual time.”

  He’d noticed. Was it wrong that her spirits soared as if she were a giddy teen? “Stop. My hair always looks like this.”

  He snorted. “I don’t know what mirror you’ve been looking in, but I’ve never seen you this hot. Well…” He whispered in her right ear, his warm breath giving her shivers. “Unless we count that time a while back…” When she reddened, he had the good grace to look away and clear his throat. “But we probably shouldn’t discuss that here.”

  Cheeks flaming, she elbowed him before leading the way to front seats.

  “Did Pia’s feathers stay on?” He folded his coat over the back of the chair.

  “Beautifully. You did a great job. I never would’ve thought of using that chopped up red rubber ball for the head and wattle. Her costume beat every other kid’s.”

  “Awesome.”

  Laughing, Ellie covered her face with her hands. “Our daughter is barely two and already we’re obsessing over her being the best. What does that say about what we’ll be like when she’s ten?”

  A funny look crossed his face. One Ellie couldn’t begin to decipher. Taking her hand, he eased his fingers between hers, upping her pulse by a couple hundred percent. “What it says is that we’re going to be amazing—and so is Pia.”

  At that moment, in the auditorium’s dim light and balmy heat, Ellie believed him. When he squeezed her hand, she squeezed back, her gaze never leaving his. Her usual guilt was there, but so was something else she hadn’t felt in a really long time—anticipation for what might come next.

  Chapter Nine

  She’s mine. That adorable dancing turkey outsinging all her friends by at least three decibels was his child. Deacon’s chest ached with pride. Had his parents ever felt this way about him? Or only his brother? Where in their raising of two children had they made a conscious decision to love only one? Or had his less than perfect teen years been more a reflection of his poor behavior rather than his parents?

  “Ell?” he whispered during a scene where Pia stood in the back with a few dancing potatoes. “Do you think I should call my dad?”

  “That’s random,” she whispered back. “What made you think of him?”

  Pia skipped to the front of the stage.

  “Never mind. We’ll talk about it after the show.”

  Hand on his forearm, she nodded.

  After the performance, after slivers of pumpkin pie that left them wanting more, after he and Ellie shared one side of a booth at a local diner because Pia was asleep on the other, Deacon once again got around to bringing up his parents. “Remember earlier, when I asked you about my dad?”

  She nodded.

  Swirling the coffee they’d ordered while waiting for pie, Deacon struggled to compose his thoughts. “Watching my own child brought on an epiphany. Hell, if I’m even using the right word.”

  “Like an aha moment?” She added cream and sugar to her coffee.

  “Exactly.” He liked that she got it. “Anyway, I was sitting there watching her, and wondered what I could’ve possibly done that was bad enough for my parents not to love me.”

  Eyes watering, Ellie didn’t say anything, just eased her arm around his shoulders.

  “For years, I’ve shied from any commitments—at least to anything other than the navy. But tonight, it occurred to me that my dad had a choice. All along, he’d had the free will to decide to put my big brother first. That wasn’t my fault, you know? And it sure as hell has nothing to do with the way I—we—choose to raise Pia. As for me avoiding long-term relationships like the plague…” He laughed, then sipped his coffee. “Again, that’s the old fear in me talking. The part of me afraid I’d never be loved. But tonight…” his throat tightened “…tonight, when I looked at our little girl, my heart felt impossibly full. I didn’t know I was capable of loving so deeply, but I am—and that shocked me. And made me happy at the same time. And it made me wonder if I’ve been wrong about other things, too.” Like whether or not I could sustain a relationship with a woman. But that opened a whole new can of worms, because it wasn’t just any woman who held him spellbound, but his dead best friend’s wife. What was wrong with him?

  “I don’t know.” She swallowed hard. “You asked if I thought you should call your dad. If you think there’s a chance for a reconciliation, I say go for it, but—”

  “No, not for a second do I believe he’ll ever stop blaming me for Peter’s death. But I know I had nothing to do with it, and that’s enough for me. Guess part of me wanted him to know I’m a father now, and that no matter what he thinks of me, I’m going to be all right.”

  Ellie’s misty-eyed smile warmed him through and through. “For the life of me, I can’t see how Pia’s turkey dance dredged all this up for you, but whatever vanquishes past demons is always good. I guess there is one thing bugging me, though…”

  “What?” He finished his coffee.

  “Forgive me if I’m out of line with this, but sounds like your main objective in calling your dad would be to thumb your nose at him. But, Deacon, you’re better than that. And the truth is, don’t you think he knows not only what a success you’ve made of your life, but that it was in spite of him, rather than because of him?”

  Their pie arrived—pumpkin for him and banana cream for Ellie. After the waitress refilled their coffee cups and left, he admitted, “I hadn’t thought of it that way. Guess for so many years I’ve been pissed off, it never occurred to me he did me a favor. Pure rage got me through BUD/S. But tonight, watching Pia—” he grinned “—it’s gone. Replaced by what I’m pretty sure is this weird thing in the pit of my stomach… Maybe I’m happy?”

  Laughing, Ellie pulled him into another hug, followed by a kiss to his nose and then cheek. A fraction of an in
ch from landing her mouth on his lips, she drew back and cleared her throat. “Not sure what’s wrong with you,” she whispered, “but I suspect you’re contagious.”

  “You’re happy, too?” he teased, shamefully wishing she’d gone for that kiss.

  “Think so.” She forked a piece of her pie. “Trouble is, how do I give myself permission? With Tom gone, I can’t seem to reconcile the guilt.”

  * * *

  THANKSGIVING DAY, Ellie set her prettiest table, cooked to the point of exhaustion then tried squelching the fear knotting her gut. Helen and John would be here any moment. Garrett and his latest girl had already arrived, and watched a parade with Pia and Ada. Tristan had gone south to celebrate with his mother. Though Deacon had been a great help to her in the kitchen, he’d also been tense, wondering whether or not to call his parents. Ellie told him to at least phone his mom, then see what unfolded. He talked to her for five minutes in awkward, choppy sentences, hanging up without having really said anything at all.

  “Smells wonderful.” Sneaking up behind her at the stove, he stole a green bean.

  “Stop!” She pushed him away. “What if Helen and John show up early? They shouldn’t see you looking so comfortable.”

  “Wow.” He took a roll from a basket on the counter and tossed it from one hand to his other. “If you ask me, you’d feel a lot better getting this paternity issue—along with our friendship—out in the open.”

  “That’s probably true, but not entirely your decision.” When it came to the information she had to let Helen and John know, Ellie would be the first to admit she was a coward.

  “Relax.” Deacon pulled her into a hug she guiltily enjoyed. “For the moment, your secret’s safe with me.”

  Despite his reassurance, when the doorbell rang, Ellie leaped away from Deacon, stirring gravy while striving for a look of normalcy.

  “You gonna get that?” he asked.

  “Could you? Please?” Quivery from the realization that if her in-laws hadn’t announced their arrival, she’d have been caught in Deacon’s arms, Ellie was instantly transformed from competent cook to weak-kneed widow just trying to make it through the day.

  In the end, she heard Garrett and Ada sharing small talk with Tom’s folks, volunteering to take their coats.

  Though Deacon hopefully hadn’t noticed, she’d been up since five, not just basting the turkey, but clearing the public parts of the house of his personal things. Helen wouldn’t understand why his favorite hat or magazines or even socks had found themselves a home in Tom’s house.

  Why do you care?

  Ellie cared because the little girl inside her who’d struggled her whole life to be loved and accepted finally felt as if she belonged to a real family. The rational part of her pointed out that that’s exactly what Deacon and Pia and she were well on their way to becoming. Why couldn’t all of them just live in harmony? Why did she have to lose Deacon to keep Helen and John?

  “There’s our other pretty girl.” With Pia already settled on her hip, sporting a new tiara Ellie hadn’t before seen, Helen crossed the kitchen to give her a one-arm hug. “Mmm, as wonderful as it smells in here, we should’ve brought you a crown, too.”

  “Thanks, but I’m good,” Ellie said with a forced laugh.

  “You all right?” Helen pressed the back of her hand to Ellie’s forehead. “Hope you’re not coming down with something. We just heard at church that an early flu is already going around.”

  “I’m fine,” Ellie assured her. “Just tired.”

  “What can Pia and I do to help?”

  “I made a Jell-O salad. Mind taking it out of the mold? The serving platter’s next to the toaster.”

  “Want to help Mommy?” Helen asked her granddaughter.

  Pia nodded. “Daddy help, too.”

  On her way to the fridge, Helen winced. “That’s still going on? Pia thinking of Deacon as her father?”

  Tell her! the voice of reason in Ellie’s head screamed. She would never have a more perfect segue. Not only did her conscience demand that she finally get the whole truth out in the open, but so did her growing loyalty to Deacon. He’d been there for her and Pia lately more times than she could count. He didn’t just deserve to be publically known as Pia’s dad, but he’d earned the right by being as good a father as any little girl had ever had. Certainly better than what Ellie had experienced.

  Better than Tom?

  Her conscience asked an unfair question.

  Tom would’ve been an amazing father to Pia in every way, but for whatever reason, he’d been taken from them prematurely. As Pia’s mom, the duty to continue their little girl’s care fell square on Ellie’s shoulders. No matter how conflicted she might be about her attraction for Deacon, there was no question his being an integral part of Pia’s life was a very good thing.

  “Helen.” Ellie clasped her hands. “I’m not trying to start anything, but why do you seem threatened by Deacon? He was Tom’s best friend. He’s my friend. What does his being with Pia hurt? She adores him.”

  Helen had taken the Jell-O from the fridge and now filled the sink with warm water. Before speaking, she glanced over her shoulder. Making sure she and Ellie were the only adults listening? “I like Deacon. Tom liked him, but also worried. According to our son, Deacon drinks too much, drives too fast and goes through women more quickly than days on a calendar. Tom once said he trusted him implicitly in battle, but…” Helen’s eyes filled with tears. She turned off the faucet and set the metal turkey mold into the water. “We all know how Tom’s last mission went.”

  “You blame Deacon for Tom’s death?” Bile rose in Ellie’s throat. Deacon had already carried the incalculable burden of his brother’s death for far too long. No way should he also carry the weight of Tom’s passing. “Helen, Tom was everything to me, and if I thought for one second Deacon had played any role in his death, I would move heaven and earth to see my husband avenged. But Tom was a soldier. He played very dangerous games and came out on the losing end. How could Deacon have controlled what I’ve been told was a sniper’s shot?”

  “There must have been something…” Helen removed the mold from the water, running a knife around the edges before topping it with the platter. She turned it over and gave the pan a light shake. The Jell-O snapped out far more perfectly than it ever had for Ellie. Was that a sign? That just as Helen was older and wiser and better at salad molds, she was also right about Deacon? “Something Deacon could’ve done.”

  “No. Helen, you know I love you like you’re my own mother, but on this, you’re wrong.”

  “Nana.” Pia looked up at Helen, holding her favorite doll, Miss Sparkles, whose dress had come undone. She also had a tiny plastic doll no bigger than a quarter that one of the kids from preschool had given her. Ellie had taken it on a couple of occasions, but her little monkey must’ve plucked it from the trash. “Fix button?”

  “Of course, honey.” Turning to Ellie, she asked, “Where do you keep your sewing kit?”

  Ellie told her. While Pia was distracted, Ellie took the miniature doll and set it on the counter. It was a relief once again having the kitchen to herself. She didn’t need minutes to process Helen’s words, more like weeks. Were they just rantings from a bitter mother who’d lost her only son? Or more? True, immediately after Tom’s death, Deacon had been drunk and reckless and rude, but that wasn’t him anymore. He was a changed man, and Ellie believed his relationship with Pia, his desire to become a great dad, had everything in the world to do with his positive life changes.

  What about me? Could I have in some small way stopped him from chasing his own demons?

  “How’s it going?” When Deacon appeared behind her, standing close enough for her to feel his heat, she flinched. “You’re jumpy. Everything okay?”

  “Um, sure.” Nothing could be further from the trut
h.

  “Can I help?”

  “No, thank you.” Yes! Help me figure out whose side I’m on. Since she’d lost Tom, Deacon had become her proverbial knight in shining armor. How could someone she also depended upon, like Helen, hold such a completely different opinion of the same man? “I think we’re ready to eat.”

  “Sure smells good.” John sauntered into the room, bearing a breezy smile and a bottle of white wine. “Helen says white meat calls for white wine, and as we all know,” he said with a wink, “she usually knows best.”

  * * *

  UPON CLOSING THE DOOR behind their last guest, Deacon leaned against it and sighed. God only knew how much he loved his daughter, but the whole extended family routine had him craving his old friend Patrón.

  Despite the crackling fire’s dancing glow, the rich scents of turkey and pumpkin and cranberries still flavoring the air, and Harry Connick Jr. doing his mellow thing on the stereo, Deacon couldn’t help but feel tense.

  “Long day, huh?” Ellie cleared what few dessert plates and utensils were still on the dining room table, carrying them to the kitchen sink.

  Deacon followed.

  Pia had long since crashed on the living room sofa.

  “Endless. Was it just me, or was there a bad vibe between you and Helen?”

  Ellie leaned her elbows on the counter, covering her face with her hands.

  Deacon went to her, lightly massaging the base of her neck. “Judging by how tight you are, I must’ve missed something fairly major. Did you tell her about Pia?”

  Ellie shook her head.

  “Then what?”

  “I don’t want to tell you.” Her voice barely rose above the music.

  Deacon’s stomach clenched. “That’s all the more reason for me to know.”

  “No. It’s too painful.”

  After a sharp exhalation, he arched his head back and stepped away. What the hell had Helen said? He also had a fondness for her, but maybe he’d been too quick to judge her a friend. “Tell me or I’m leaving.”