“What do you mean, gone?” Even more distracted, Patrick’s right foot slipped. He caught himself, but if he didn’t watch it, he’d end up flatter than one of Stephie’s trademark pancakes.
“I got the feeling Delia knows where she is but wasn’t talking. You know how chicks clam up. My guess is both of them are pissed at you for dumping Steph and—”
“I didn’t—” He leapt for a crevice two-feet to his right but missed. For a heart-stopping few seconds, Patrick hung in midair, suspended between life and death.
“Dude…” Hawk lunged, just catching Patrick by his backpack’s upper nylon handle.
His friend’s quick action not only saved his life but bought him time to find a new handhold. A few seconds later, the incident was a memory. His pounding pulse failed to get the message.
The four guys they led had already reached the top and applauded while shouting out judging scores.
“I’d give that a seven-point-eight!”
Patrick flipped billionaire Mulligan a bird. This cliff face didn’t give a shit how much money was in your wallet. “You guys need to slow down. You’re damned lucky this didn’t happen to you!”
Grinning, Mulligan returned Patrick’s crude gesture.
Back to Hawk, Patrick said, “Thanks for the save, man.”
“No problem.”
“But I didn’t dump her. You know what went down.”
“I get it, but apparently she didn’t.”
Patrick almost asked Hawk what he should do, but that would be a mistake. Not only did Hawk know nothing about women, but for all practical purposes, there was nothing Patrick could do about Stephie having moved on. Why shouldn’t she? Hadn’t he urged her to do that very thing?
“I’m hurt,” Hawk said.
“Over what?”
“If you two want a baby, I’m crushed over the fact that you didn’t just ask me to donate a few of my swimmers to fill in for you. Stephie’s a hottie. Hell, I would’ve been honored to perform the task the old-fashioned way.”
“You’re an ass.” Patrick’s boiling blood propelled him the remaining twenty feet.
He needed this trip to end ASAP.
Then he needed to find Stephie.
Sure, he had no right interfering in her life. And she had every right to do whatever she pleased. But the knot in his gut refused to let her go—at least not all the way. Like it or not, she’d always hold a special place in his heart.
But was that good enough? How could he go on without her actively being part of his daily life? He thought he’d been okay with his decision, but just now, in those few seconds between living and dying, he’d realized how much she meant to him, and how sorry he was for letting her go—not that it had been his decision. That call had been made for him by the genetic soup created by ancestors he’d never even met.
Chapter Ten
“THANK YOU, MRS. MURPHY.” On the warm July day, Stephie waved to her neighbor who had gifted her a basket loaded with blueberry muffins and was now on her way to the Wednesday clubhouse bingo game.
“You’re welcome, sweetie!” She raised her arm for a backhanded wave. “Let me know how your trip to the doctor goes.”
“Will do!” Stephie closed the cabin’s front door, then delivered a mental apology for yet another in her ever-mounting pile of lies. Her trip to the doctor would be a relaxing picnic in her favorite meadow. Ever since she’d driven away from her Anchorage doctor’s office, a profound sense of calm had taken over—at least, about her decision to arrange for a medical leave of absence from her job, then essentially vanish, accepting that whatever happened with her baby rested in God’s capable hands.
She’d cried.
She’d mourned.
She’d begged the question, why me?
In the end, the only conclusion Stephie had reached was that this whole situation was so far out of her control that she might as well give it up to a higher power. So that was what this retreat was about—escaping her doctor’s incessant calls. Her roomie’s disapproving glares. While she appreciated the most important people in the life caring about her, since there was nothing they could do, either, she’d opted to temporarily cut them all from her life.
That said—or, at least thought—she wasn’t stupid. The remote village of Yukatat had a highly qualified midwife who would safely see her through labor and delivery. Should the worst occur, she planned to privately mourn her precious little baby, then bury him or her in the local graveyard beside her parents. Should the best-ever sort of miracle occur and her baby be born healthy and whole…
She teared at the mere thought.
Well, should that happen, she and her precious angel would live happily ever after.
And Patrick? When are you planning on telling him you’re carrying his child?
Stephie forced a deep breath. Considering his stance on having children, maybe never.
“Delia,” Patrick said into his cell the first chance he had a signal. They were still a few days out from Kodiak Gorge, but from this vantage on the north face of Mt. Oliver, he could sometimes catch a few bars. Lucky for him, this was one of those times. “Be straight with me. You know exactly where Steph went. You also know I have friends who can find her.”
“Good.” Despite the afternoon’s warm sun, her voice’s cold, flat quality gave him chills. “Then I suggest you call one of them.”
“Why are you being like this?” Staring off at the usually awe-inspiring view of the clear high-alpine lake ringed by a trio of snow-capped peaks, he raked his fingers through hair that had grown too shaggy. “I consider you a friend.”
“Likewise—at least, I used to. But that was before you dumped my best friend.”
Patrick hardened his jaw. “Look, I don’t know how much Steph told you about what went down between us, but there’s a lot more to it than the two of us not getting along. I will love her till the day I die, but some things just aren’t meant to be.”
“Right. Call your fancy SEAL friends and have them help you find Steph. After that, how about finding a soul?” Click.
She’d hung up on him. What the hell?
“Find out where Stephie is?” Hawk asked.
“No. And Delia wasn’t exactly cordial.”
“I got the same cold shoulder. What are you going to do?”
“I caught one!” Mulligan held up a trout that slipped from his hands before Patrick could even see what kind. “Damn. Slippery little sucker.”
The “bros” gave Mulligan shit for losing the only fish any of them had caught all day.
“Hang on,” Patrick called. “Let’s change-up your flies and I’ll bring you a net.”
Hawk trailed after him to grab the tackle change from their packs. “Back to Steph, where do you think she went? And why? Like doesn’t she pretty much live for her job?”
“Yes.” Patrick rifled through the pack. “Which is why I’m freaked out. None of this makes sense. I mean, I know she was upset about us breaking things off, but not to the point that she’d up and vanish.”
“Yeah…” Hawk sighed. “Maybe she met another guy?”
Patrick shot his supposed friend a scathing look.
“When we get down,” Patrick said, “I’m calling Harding. He’s got the contacts to find her in five minutes.” Their old SEAL buddy now ran an elite personal protection agency called Trident, Inc. that handled everything from guarding kings and queens and presidents to movie stars. They also took on the kinds of black-ops cases of the sort only whispered about in polite circles. Harding and his crew were as bad-ass as they came. Stephie didn’t stand a chance of staying hidden with the whole Trident team on her case.
“Excellent plan.”
A string of expletives shot to them from the lake’s edge. Mulligan had lost another fish.
“If we want dinner, looks like we’d better catch it ourselves.”
“Roger that.”
In between procuring plenty of trout for their evening meal, Patrick wrestl
ed with the certain knowledge that for Steph—a thoroughly grounded medical professional—to act in this sort of erratic behavior, something had to be majorly wrong.
But what?
As soon as dinner had been cleaned, prepped and fed to Mulligan and his bros, Patrick and Hawk hammered out the clean-up, then, while Hawk kept the guys occupied with aged scotch and war stories, Patrick hiked high enough to get a signal that allowed him to call his old pal Harding.
A freak high-altitude snow kept Patrick from hearing back from Harding for four, endless days. Mulligan had been in a snit about missing a few meetings and gave them grief about it every inch down the mountain.
Back at Kodiak Gorge Outfitters’ headquarters, while Hawk drove the cranky billionaire to Colby’s plane for their flight to Anchorage, Patrick washed and stowed the equipment, prepping it for their next backcountry trek, then finally placed his call to Harding.
His old friend answered on the third ring. “Where’ve you been? Told you it wouldn’t take long for me to track down your gal and it didn’t.”
“Long story. I’ll spare you the details. What did you find out?”
“You may want to sit.”
“Okay…” Patrick backed into the lone office chair. The ancient green vinyl model groaned with displeasure. “Let’s have it.”
“She’s good. Used cash for the majority of her trek up to a town called Yukatat. Heard of it?”
“Sure. It’s a resort town a couple hours north of Anchorage.”
“Well, turns out her parents are both deceased, but left her a cozy lakeside cabin.”
“That’s it?” Patrick could have kicked himself for forgetting that detail. She’d mentioned it back when they’d first met, but said work kept her so busy that she hadn’t been there in years. She used a management company to ensure it didn’t fall into disrepair.
“Here’s the part you need to be sitting for.” Harding sighed. “My team specializes in…” he cleared his throat, “…comprehensive results. When we found her last credit card charge had been to a physician, we did what I thought would be a minimally invasive glance—you know, to make sure we weren’t dealing with a terminal illness. It would blow your mind what people do when hearing that kind of news. Some folks do run away. But what we found…” He sharply exhaled.
Spit it out! For the physical effort it took to not explode on one of his oldest friends, Patrick might as well have been back in BUD/S. He waved his hands to hurry him along. “What did you find that’s so awful that Steph’s not dying, but I still need to sit?”
“Hate to break it to you this way, but dude—your girl’s pregnant.”
Chapter Eleven
“WHAT DO YOU mean you can’t find my baby’s heartbeat?” Stephie’s pulse took off at an alarming rate. Though she’d reclined on the cabin’s comfy sofa for her latest midwife exam, her body felt anything but at ease. She’d tried declining all appointments beyond the delivery, but her midwife and childhood friend, Jewel Parker, had insisted that for her safety and the baby’s, that regular wellness checks must be made.
“Relax,” Jewel said above the racket that the early August downpour made on the metal roof. “Your little angel is probably hiding from the storm. Give me another sec…” The gel she used for the wand she glided over Stephie’s tummy had gone cold in the damp chill. As soon as she left, Stephie would make a fire in the stone hearth. She’d make cocoa instead of her usual herbal tea and then switch out her current creepy mystery novel with a heartwarming romance—anything to take her mind from all the things that could go wrong with her pregnancy.
“Well?” Stephie nibbled her lower lip.
“Haven’t found him or her yet, but—there’s the little rascal.” The baby’s heart’s reassuring gallop filled the small room. “Perfect. Nice and strong.”
After a long, slow exhale, Stephie smiled. “Wonderful. Thanks.”
“My pleasure, but hon, you’ve got to relax. Every time we meet, I feel like your stress level gets higher—your blood pressure, too. It’s not good for you or your baby.”
“I know.”
“I don’t mean to pry, but is everything okay?”
“Fine. I’m naturally a nervous Nellie.”
“I get that, but if you ever need to talk, I’m here. Yukatat is such a small community that we’re family. Many of your neighbors fondly remember your parents—even you when you were a little girl. If you’d let them, so many people would love to have you over for dinner or poker night or just to chat.”
“Thanks, but…” Stephie bowed her head. “I’m content on my own,” she said while Jewel used a damp cloth to wipe gel from her belly, “I really just want to lounge on the couch all day.”
“I understand, but you should at least take a daily walk. Get some fresh air. It’s good for you and the baby.”
Baby…
What Stephie couldn’t say was that all she really wanted to do was hug her baby bump, because there was a good chance once he or she was born, they would die. As much as Jewel was a proponent of moms having their babies at home, had she known the potential ticking time bomb growing inside of her client, she would have demanded Stephie seek immediate medical attention.
But why?
What would be the point? Why force herself to face the reality she’d spent months from trying to hide?
Jewel loaded the fetal monitor and gel into her medical bag. “I’m off to see Tally Haggar-Ingot. Remember her from when we used to sneak strawberries from her grandpa’s garden?”
“She’s still here?”
“Yep. The whole family. She married Gustav and they now run an even bigger farm. You should go for a visit—their strawberry scones are shipped worldwide.” Jewel winked. “Babies love berries.”
For a long time after Jewel left, Stephie sat frozen on the sofa with her hands pressed to her baby bump.
Her thoughts drifted to when she was a child, playing hide and seek with Jewel and Tally during endless summer days. Her life had been simple and happy and easy. Now? Everything felt topsy-turvy and all messed up—like she was living in a dream world where nothing was as it seemed.
This should have been the happiest of times with her and Patrick making baby name lists and decorating the nursery and being guests of honor at a baby shower where they played silly diaper-changing relay games. Instead, she felt as if she was in a constant state of panic and grief and fear.
A knock on the door jolted Stephie from her self-imposed darkness.
Wiping tears from her cheeks that she hadn’t realized she’d been crying, she called, “Jewel, come on in! What did you forget?”
“It’s not Jewel…” called an achingly familiar male voice from outside.
Patrick? She hadn’t thought it possible for her heart to race faster, but at the mere thought of seeing him again, hearing his dear voice, feeling his strong, reassuring touch, holding her through this emotional black hole, her entire nervous system went haywire.
From her current angle, she couldn’t see the door, but she swung her feet off the sofa and onto the floor, then turned to find Patrick wasn’t a voice from her dreams, but a flesh and blood fixture in her lonely presence, pulling open the screen door there was never a need to lock and stepping inside.
Hot, messy tears fell with no sign of stopping.
Months of pent-up feelings spilled in great, wracking sobs.
Patrick knelt, drawing her against his broad chest, wrapping her in his tree-trunk arms. He was really and truly there—so solid and warm.
He held her and rocked her and then he was crying, too, kissing the crown of her head, stroking her long hair in its tumble down her back. Joining her on the sofa, he drew her onto his lap. And when their tears subsided, he asked simply, “Why? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I-I couldn’t. This baby is the last thing you wanted—and for heartbreakingly valid reasons. But it was too late. Whether the condom broke or was defective we’ll never know. But by the time you shared your fa
mily tragedy, it was too late. I already carried this life inside.”
He groaned, easing her off him to lean forward, slicing his fingers through his hair. “So when we talked at your apartment, and I told you the results of my genetic testing, you already knew?”
Eyes welling all over again, she nodded. “I’m sorry…”
“No…” Back on the floor, on his knees, he raised her floral blouse, drawing down the waistband of her maternity yoga pants to press kiss after blessedly warm kiss to her belly. To her baby. Their baby. “This child isn’t something to be sorry about, but a miracle we will love regardless of the outcome.”
The outcome.
His way of admitting that whether their baby lived or died, he would still love it every bit as much as she already did. The unfathomable cruelty of their reality hit her like a sledgehammer against the side of her head. The pain of it was blinding and dizzying, and yet, unavoidable.
Literally living and growing inside her.
For now, their baby was safe and secure and real. But closer to her due date?
All bets were off. Anything could happen.
But what if instead of playing out the worst-case scenario, she shifted her attentions to the best? What if their baby didn’t die, but lived and breathed and thrived with all ten fingers and toes? What if he or she had Patrick’s green eyes and her lopsided grin? What if he or she grew up to be healthy and strong and the three of them lived happily ever after?
“How did you find me?” she asked, searching his dear, familiar face.
“Friends in low places.” He chuckled. “Remember Harding? We met him at India and Briggs’ wedding?”
She nodded.
“He and a few of his guys were able to track you. Hawk was the one who initially told me you’d gone MIA. But why didn’t you tell me? That night at your apartment—had I known, this whole time I could have been here for you. We could have weathered this together.”
St. Patrick’s Baby (SEAL Team: Holiday Heroes Book 4) Page 5