Wolfsbane

by Ronie Kendig

  He swayed and grabbed the chair. “Why are you doing this?” Numb, he dropped into the leather cushions. “Corazine—where is she? Why bring this girl to me?” What a stupid thing to say. Canyon buried his face in his hands. This can’t be happening. “Don’t you people see this is stupid? I mess things up. Everything I touch, it doesn’t turn to gold. It turns to rot. Look at Tres Kruces, look at my whole freakin’ life! Why on earth would you put a child with a man like me?”

  “We have more testimony from Corazine,” Rubart said. “She insists you were not responsible for what happened to the village.”

  He pulled his head out of the quagmire of the past. “She … but how?” That made no sense. How would Corazine know?

  Matt sighed. “She wasn’t detailed, but I think we might have a shot at clearing your name.”

  “No!” General Lambert lunged to his feet. “I told you to bury that until we have more details and proof—cold, hard proof.”

  Rubart’s expression darkened. “He has the right to know what we have.”

  Surprise lit through Canyon at the way the two argued. But his mind hooked on one thing. “Of course she wasn’t detailed. Cora wasn’t a soldier. She was a sweet woman who didn’t know military procedure. She didn’t know I gave the coordinates—”

  “Explain that to me.”

  Canyon held Rubart’s gaze. “I disagreed with the strike, but when we were being overrun by radicals, I gave coordinates. I thought … I thought they were for a location more than a mile away. But …” He shrugged. “I don’t know. The bombs hit the village. Perfect strike. Don’t you get it? Cora loved me; she wouldn’t want to believe I made that mistake.”

  Matt opened the laptop, accessed the video, and forwarded it to the segment he’d marked. He played it. Then motioned to the screen. “Right there, she says you were not responsible.”

  “That’s it?” Canyon struggled to his feet, biting through the pain that leeched into his chest again. “This is … this is bull!”

  “Aren’t you interested in—?”

  “Don’t go there.” Canyon shook a finger at Rubart. “Think about what you’re doing—shoving this girl into my life and opening this Pandora’s box from hell. Are you out of your mind? They’ll put me away, then where does that leave her?”

  “That is exactly what I told Major Rubart.” General Lambert’s chest was heaving. “No, we will not do anything with the little we have, Canyon. I promise you that. If we cannot find more, then things stay as they are.”

  Rubart planted his hands on his hips, that crisp uniform tidy and sparkling. The man should try getting his hands dirty. “So, what? You don’t want your own daughter?”

  Canyon smirked. “I never figured you for a politician, Rubart.”

  “I am trying to find the truth, Canyon.”

  “Just … leave it alone.” Exhaustion weighted his limbs. He sat in the chair, staring at the little girl. Kneading the tension in his forehead, he watched the girl. “How old is she?” Three … wouldn’t she be about three? That’d fit the time line. Right?

  Major Hartwicke crouched next to the girl, wrapping her arm around the yellow-and-white daisy dress. “Three.” She touched the tip of the girl’s chin. “And she speaks English.” Hartwicke looked at him. “Mrs. Mercado told us Bayani taught them all English.”

  A sour taste squirted over his tongue, remembering how determined the chief and his wife were for their people to know the language. His heart constricted at the way the little girl laughed with the major, a chin-tucked coy smile-laugh.

  Just like Chesa.

  He snapped his eyes shut. Chesa …

  She was alive. She was alive and I left her. She was alive, I left her, and she was pregnant. Oh, Lord God, forgive me!

  “Leave us.” Canyon stroked his head with his fingers, a new volatile ache whipping through him.

  Once the others had cleared out, the little girl hesitated and looked around. Her gaze finally rested on him. Though something in him wanted to shove her away, deny the whole mess, he realized this was his chance. His chance to make it up to Chesa. To honor her memory by taking care of their daughter.

  “Hi.”

  Eerily, she looked at him with eyes he saw in the mirror every day. The Metcalfe blues. He pushed out of the chair and eased himself onto the carpet next to her. “You have my eyes,” he mumbled.

  That chin-tuck smile melted his heart. “Lola said I have my daddy’s eyes.”

  Emotion thickened his throat and he strained to swallow. Two things plucked the image of the wonderful woman who’d treated him like a son: Lola—the Filipino name for grandmother. And “daddy’s eyes.”

  My eyes.

  He smirked. “Yeah.” He brushed the hair from her face and off her shoulder. When he did, a chain necklace caught his attention. As he touched the tiny ball beads, his heart skipped a beat. Then two.

  He tugged it free. When a dog tag dangled in his hand, he sucked in a breath as he closed a fist around the tag.

  “It’s all I have, Chesa.”

  Brown eyes captivated his mind. “It is all the more special.”

  She’d worn his dog tags proudly since he had no ring to give her for their wedding ceremony. And she’d had them on the day she died.

  The day I left her.

  New agony wormed through his mind. Abandoning his wife when she was pregnant. Never seeing her belly grow large. Or seeing her give birth, seeing their daughter come into the world. Was she a quiet tormentor the way his mom had said he was? Or did she come in kicking and screaming?

  He dreaded facing Roark now. Might as well squeeze lemon into that sucking chest wound. He’d complied with the agreement he’d made with Range. And it’d killed him not to visit the hospital. Not to call and see how she was doing. But he had to give her room.

  Or was it the lab results that kept him away?

  The girl patted his shoulder. “Are you my daddy? Lola said we were going to find my daddy.”

  Pulse spiraling adrenaline-laced panic, Canyon stilled. Daddy. Yeah. Exactly how did that work? What if that test is wrong? A vehemence rooted itself in Canyon’s heart. This little girl was Awa and Cora’s granddaughter, which meant, even if he wasn’t her father, he was the only family she had now.

  “Yeah, I am.” He blew out a breath. Owning up to it was half the battle.

  At that, she chin-tucked again and eased into his arms. As if she’d done it all her life, she snuggled into him. In her hair, he could smell Chesa, that unique body scent he could’ve tracked like a bloodhound. Finally, something in his life had not ended in total ruin. Holding Tala flooded him with so many fond memories … and peace. He closed his eyes and inhaled. With a smile, he pressed a kiss to her crown.

  Twisted. Weird. But so good.

  I don’t deserve her, God.

  “Love is not earned. It’s given.”

  CHAPTER 35

  Walter Reed Army Medical Center,

  Washington, D. C.

  20 June

  How many fingers do you see?”

  Dani sighed. “Four.”

  The doctor moved his hand but kept the same fingers up. “And now?”

  “Four.”

  He penned something in her file, tossed it aside, then scooted his stool toward where she sat on the edge, wearing pajama pants and an ARMY sweatshirt. She’d adamantly refused to wear a hospital gown and have her backside bared.

  Two weeks ago, she wondered if she’d ever walk again. Although her neck and back ached, she felt stronger and more capable. She’d awakened the first time surrounded by General Lambert, her sister, and Range Metcalfe. Though a nice welcome, it wasn’t the one she wanted.

  Canyon had been strangely absent. And nobody talked about him—or anything that had happened down in Venezuela, for that fact. She heard their hushed conversations about her father—found dead, execution-style. Apparently everyone expected her to bemoan her father’s death. But they weren’t there when he turned his back on her. Mour
ning him? No. What she mourned was spending weeks without seeing Canyon. “Roark. Stay with me, baby.” His words, as life tried to sneak out of her lungs, were burned into her memory.

  He’d not stepped foot in this hospital. But Range had visited every day, brought flowers, stuffed animals, and cards.

  Dr. Henderson smiled up at her as they sat alone in her room. “How about the dizzy spells, Danielle? Are you still experiencing those?”

  “Occasionally.” She glanced down at the doc, who didn’t look old enough to wear that white medical coat. “Is that from the neck sprain?” When the brace had come off, she’d started walking around more, until the room swirled and tilted. And that brought nausea.

  Hesitation held the room captive, then he let out a quick puff of air. “No.”

  “Then what?”

  Hands clasped in front of him, Dr. Henderson pinched his lips together. “Are you having any other … unusual symptoms?”

  Dani shook her head and shrugged. “Should I be?” What if being thrown across Bruzon’s lawn had damaged her brain or …? “Is something wrong with me?”

  “No, not particularly. The MRI came back clear once the swelling went down.” He stood and shoved the stool back. It thudded against the wall, the metal clanking. “Just a moment, please.”

  What’s going on? He opened the door, stepped into the hall—still holding the door open—then returned. With General Lambert. And Frogman. And an attractive brunette, whose belly was rounded with the expectancy of a child.

  Um, okay. What’s with the entourage?

  “Hello, Danielle.” The general greeted her with a gentle kiss on the forehead. “I’d like you to meet Sydney Jacobs, Max’s wife.”

  Standing, Dani blinked and stilled against the light-headedness that threatened. Once it passed, she recovered and extended her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  “I’ve heard a lot about you.” The strength in her hand belied Sydney’s sweet voice.

  General Lambert threaded his fingers. “Danielle, we’d like to ask you some questions.”

  Uh-oh. She thought this smelled like a setup. “Okay.” She eased back onto the bed and lifted the glass of orange juice from her tray and sipped.

  “Not to be indelicate,” General Lambert said, “but we need to know. When you were held by Bruzon during this last mission, were you raped?”

  Hauling in a breath and swallowing OJ at the same time—bad idea! She coughed. Sputtered. Choked. Her eyes stung and watered. She felt like she could hack up a lung. Awkward silence bled into the chilled room. Thumping her chest, she shook her head and cleared her throat. “Sorry.” She cleared her throat again. “No, no, he didn’t rape me this time.”

  “You’re certain?”

  Startled at the question, Dani looked at Max.

  So did Sydney, who scowled at her husband.

  “Sorry.” He covered his mouth with a fist. “I mean, did anyone else … were you …?”

  “Was I raped by someone else?” Dani almost wanted to laugh at the way the guy stammered. “No.”

  Lambert frowned and looked to Max, then to her. He angled toward the doctor, away from Dani, then whispered something. Max joined them, muttering to the general. Henderson’s head wagged as he mumbled something to the other two.

  Sydney shifted awkwardly and offered an apologetic smile.

  Dani couldn’t take it anymore. “Is there something wrong?”

  The three men conferred—albeit quietly—then Lambert emerged from the pack. “Danielle, as you know, it’s SOP to run a lab kit when a patient is brought into a hospital.”

  She shrugged. “I’m sure my kit was pretty thick. I was almost dead.”

  “Yes …” Lambert came closer, his expression knotted. “Danielle …” He slid his hands into his pockets. “One of the tests they run on every female—”

  “Even if you’re a Catholic nun, we run a pregnancy test.” Henderson’s chuckle earned him glares from Max and the general.

  Something thumped against her chest. Hard. Startling. Her mind flicked to Canyon. To that night at the hotel. To their fight afterward. No … Heat washed through her face and neck. Her mind scrambled for proof that it couldn’t be true.

  When … when was her last monthly? She racked her brain to come up with a date. It all blurred into one massive nightmare she’d worked hard to forget.

  Lambert said, “Your test was positive.”

  “Tha–that can’t be.” She swallowed, gulped the adrenaline rushing through her veins. “It’s a mistake.”

  Dr. Henderson offered a sad smile. “I’m sorry. We did run a second one, just in case. But there are no false positives with the tests. Negative, yes. But not positive. Those tests use the hormone …”

  As his clinical explanation droned on, Dani buried her face in her hands. His words were lost as she fully comprehended what they were saying, why Lambert had brought Max’s wife—to comfort her after they broke the news.

  I’m pregnant.

  “Dani,” Max’s gruff voice cut through her shock. “I need to ask: This baby—does it belong to someone on my team?”

  Wild panic streaked through her. No. No, she wouldn’t out him like this.

  Wait.

  Was this why Canyon hadn’t come to see her? Was it because he knew and didn’t want her—or the baby? The thought felt like a kick in the gut. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She pressed her face into her pillow propped against the elevated mattress.

  “Danielle—”

  “Leave me alone,” she cried through her hands, hating the way the general’s voice sounded. Filled with sympathy. Concern. “Go away.” She drew up her legs onto the bed and cried.

  She’d been a wreck since regaining consciousness, morose that he hadn’t come to see her. Now she knew why.

  Richmond, Virginia 22 June

  “I’m sorry but the number you’ve reached is no longer in service.”

  Canyon flung the phone against the passenger door of his Camaro. Why did it feel like his last hope of seeing Roark had been severed? Though he’d promised Range he wouldn’t see or talk to her, he couldn’t live with that bargain. He was going crazy out of his mind not knowing how she was doing. Max told him her recovery, though slow, was good. From Lambert he’d learned she was still in the hospital. But beyond that … nada.

  Now, her cell wasn’t working.

  “Daddy, are you mad?”

  Still unused to being a father, he chided himself for acting out in front of Tala. “It’s oka—” He clamped down on the words as he spotted the cluster of vans and cars encamped at the entrance to the driveway. “Bloodsuckers,” he mumbled.

  Two sawhorses blocked the drive, an armed security guard directly behind them. Canyon flashed his lights, signaling the guard, then gunned the engine. The guard launched into action and whipped the blockade aside just as Canyon nailed the driveway before anyone could get in the way or stop him. Or frighten Tala by mobbing the car. The tires spun and spit pebbles toward the camera crews and reporters. Guilty pleasure rumbled within him at the shouts of protest and cries. “Stay out of my life.”

  In the garage, he let down the door before he climbed out.

  “Hey, there’s the man of the hour!”

  Sandwiched between the car door and frame of the Camaro, Canyon caught Stone’s hand-slap-back-slap hug. “Thanks, man. It’s good to be home.” He glanced toward the back entry to the kitchen. “Is everyone here?”

  “Just as you asked. Even Brooke, which is amazing these days.”

  Stomach twisted and knotted, Canyon hesitated. What would they think? Honestly, he just wanted to talk to Roark, tell her about Tala, get the past behind them and try to start a future.

  “You okay, Canyon?”

  “Yeah. Sure.”

  “Then let’s get inside. Mom’s got a million foodstuffs and we’re all starving.”

  “Right.” He shifted and bent down, reaching for the seat lever. He flipped the front seat forward and bent into the car
.

  “Need help with anything?”

  Man, this sucked. Canyon angled himself in and unbuckled the five-point harness then slipped the straps off Tala’s shoulders … and hesitated.

  With the way his mother loved kids, he didn’t doubt for a second she’d take to Tala. The question, the fear that sucked at his courage, was what she would think of him. Especially since he couldn’t tell them anything or explain where Tala had come from.

  They’d just write him off as a loose cannon again. Loose Canyon. Silent tormentor.

  He brushed Tala’s hair from her face and smiled. “How can they not love you?” he whispered and pulled her into his arms. Backing out, he steeled himself against Stone’s reaction. Slowly he came around, eyes pinned to his older brother.

  Stone blinked, eyes widening, mouth parting.

  Canyon felt sick.

  “Not exactly what I expected you to bring out of your car.”

  “You and me both.” Canyon moved for the stairs. Swirling nausea coated the back of his throat with an acidic taste. Up three steps and through the door, he entered the kitchen. Willow and Brooke turned with wide smiles that somehow widened as his younger sister squealed.

  “Oh my goodness, she’s adorable!” Willow rushed forward and scooped Tala from him.

  “No, Willow, lea—” He tried to maintain his hold, but it broke when she spun away with the three-year-old.

  “Who is this beautiful angel?”

  Tala arched over Willow’s shoulder and screamed, “Daddy!”

  The room froze as Tala’s crying invaded the home.

  Willow’s wide eyes found his. “Daddy?”

  “What on earth is going on in—?” His mother’s words dropped like a brick. Hand to her throat, confusion scraped through her sweet face and rubbed Canyon’s heart raw. Confusion bled into what he thought was understanding, then into disappointment.

  Retrieving his now-crying daughter, Canyon motioned toward the living room. “Please. Let’s sit down and talk.”

  “Here,” Brooke’s soft voice said from beside him.

  Canyon glanced down and found a cookie being offered to a sniffling Tala. “Thanks.” He took the cookie and tucked it in her hands. “It’s okay, baby.”