The Marine's Secret Daughter

by Carrie Nichols

  She ignored him and inched her way forward. “You need to get a dog. I think that sit and stay stuff works better with canines.”

  “Sweet Jesus, woman, you’re giving me heart failure.” His voice got closer as he made his way up the ladder, muttering colorful and unique curses. “What are you doing up here?”

  “Admiring the view.” She ordered her heart to quit thumping so hard every time he acted as if he cared about her. Her errant tarp appeared over the edge of the roof, followed by a large male hand plunking it down and holding it in place.

  Riley hauled himself over the side and onto the roof. “Can I offer some useful advice?”

  “Can you spare it?”

  “I’m not in the mood, Meg.”

  She glared at him. “Neither am I.”

  “Other than breaking your neck, what did you hope to accomplish up here?”

  “I was trying to use the tarp as a temporary solution. The roof is leaking.” She reached for the bright blue plastic. “Thanks. I can take it from here.”

  He held the tarp out of reach. “I’ll take care of it. You go down before you kill yourself.”

  “This Neanderthal act of yours is getting old.” She’d love nothing more than to let him take care of things, but she couldn’t count on it. If you didn’t expect things, you couldn’t be disappointed. She’d had enough disappointment when it came to Riley. She’d done her best to be understanding about his disappearance after his friend’s funeral, but he hadn’t once tried to contact her. Would a short text just to let her know he was okay have killed him? She groaned at her own poor choice of words. If she wasn’t careful she’d have herself convinced he cared about her, and she’d be weaving fairy-tale endings that weren’t going to happen. The only fairy tales she allowed in her life were the ones she read to Fiona.

  “That’s too bad but I’m up here now, and I’m putting an end to your nonsense.” He unfolded the tarp. “Where is it leaking?”

  She wasn’t letting him get away with talking to her like that. Forgiveness wasn’t on her agenda at the moment. Putting her hands on her hips, she demanded. “Since when is preventing water damage nonsense?”

  “The sane response would be to call a roofer.” He shook the tarp.

  “Oh? Well, then, it’s a good thing you’re here to save me from myself.”

  “Christ, Meghan, I’m serious.”

  “So am I. I’ve managed to survive twenty-five years without your help, so you can go home or disappear for another three days.”

  “Is that what this is about?”

  Was it? “No. This is about my leaky roof and nothing more.”

  “These are pretty brittle.” He squatted down and flipped a few shingles. The loosened granules rolled down the slope, sounding like sand pouring out of a bucket.

  What was wrong with her? He was examining asphalt shingles and she was imagining that hand holding hers while they sat at the end of the dock and counted the stars. She needed to stop this, and her hormones needed to go back into the hibernation they’d been in before Riley arrived.

  “Is it?” He glanced at her.

  Oh, God. She’d been so busy fantasizing, she hadn’t been paying attention to what he’d asked. “Is what...what?”

  He rubbed his hand across his mouth. “This is not the place for that.”

  Her heart pounded and she rubbed her palms on her jeans. Trying for casual, she asked, “For what?”

  “You have to ask?” He cocked his eyebrow. “Okay, I’ll play. For the way you’re looking at me.”

  She shook her head and reached again for the tarp. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Yeah, you keep telling yourself that.”

  Heat spread across her face and she yanked on the blue plastic. Maybe, if she told herself enough times, she’d believe it herself. “Are you going to help me get this tarp on?”

  “The sooner, the better.” He sighed. “I don’t like you up here.”

  What about on the porch? Or at the lake?

  She pushed those thoughts aside as he helped her spread the tarp, tucking it under the shingles at the top. If he wasn’t going to mention their date, then neither was she. When he reached his hand out, she handed him the roofing nails from her pocket along with the hammer she’d hooked into the waistband of her jeans.

  After he secured the tarp, he said, “I’ll check around for any other trouble spots. You go down. Now.”

  “There are parts over the porch that are—”

  “I’m sorry, Meghan, did I give you the impression I was asking when I said, ‘Go down’?”

  “I’m not one of your marines you can order around.”

  “Yeah, they follow my orders.” Riley gripped the top of the ladder and lifted his chin.

  Of all the...

  She sputtered as she made her way down the ladder, but she wasn’t angry. Although she’d never admit it out loud, she found his protectiveness sexy. Despite what she’d told him that night at the lake when she’d called a halt to their kiss, she was tempted to do temporary.

  Bold talk for someone who’d let opportunity slip through her hands, she thought regretfully.

  * * *

  Riley held his breath as she climbed down the ladder, not sucking in air until she’d reached the bottom.

  He surveyed the roof, wondering if he had enough time to replace it before he left. The thought of her up here trying to patch a leak while he was half a world away made his stomach roll.

  Unfortunately, trying to haul stacks of shingles up here could wrench his shoulder and if that happened, he might never get back to his men. And he didn’t want anything to get in the way of reuniting with his squad.

  Not even the lovely Meg?

  He told his inner voice to shut up. Of course he wanted to get back to his men as soon as possible. Even though Meg had been in his thoughts those three days, spending time with his fellow marines at the funeral had strengthened his commitment. Hadn’t it? He wouldn’t dishonor himself, his men, or his commitment. And what about the men who died? He needed to honor them if nothing else. But you’ve already given the corps years. Isn’t that enough?

  Riley growled and stomped over to the part of the roof that hung over the porch. Crack. A rotted board gave under his weight. Shards of wood scraped his legs as he passed between the joists. Now that was a dumbass move. No wonder he was waist deep in Meg’s roof.

  “Riley? Are you okay?”

  “Found one of those weak spots in the roof.” He braced his hands on the shingles, the mineral granules digging into his palms, and moved his foot around until he found a rafter. He gave a push with his feet and hands, intending to boost himself back up. Instead the decayed materials snapped. Oh, Christ, he was going down.

  What was underneath? He gritted his teeth against the inevitable fall, after which he landed square on one of the Adirondack chairs, which groaned under the impact and then gave up the fight.

  Flat on his back on a pile of rotted boards, he spat and wiped dust and splinters off his face. The wood and dust smelled like mushrooms. Dry rot. He let off a string of curses in his head. The adrenaline pumping through him was helping stave off the pain, but he knew from experience he would soon be in a world of hurt.

  “Oh! My! God!”

  The panic in her voice brought his head up, which sent a shard of pain through his ribs.

  “Riley? Oh, my God, you’re bleeding.” She dropped to her knees beside him, running her hands over his ripped shirt, inspecting the cuts on his arms and chest. Oh, man, this wasn’t a good time for that particular piece of anatomy to be coming to life. Gotta love all that excess adrenaline. When she skimmed over his shoulder, he bit back a curse.

  Grunting, he drew in a breath, and a groan slipped out before he could stop it. “I’m okay. Got the wind knocked out of me.”

 
Her hands continued their journey, searching for injuries. “Don’t move. Something could be broken.”

  “Only my pride,” he muttered. He scrubbed his hand over his face and then through his hair, sending a shower of dust and dirt into the air. He coughed, cursing under his breath when excruciating pain stabbed him in the ribs.

  “Meggie, I’m...” He ground his teeth against the pain.

  Don’t wimp out now, Marine. Keep it together—you’re scaring her.

  He moved his legs, breathing out a sigh of relief when they obeyed without difficulty. “I might need some assistance to stand up.”

  Meg leaned forward. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “You won’t.”

  He rubbed his hand over the right side of his chest. Pressed. Ground his teeth. “I think I may have bruised a few ribs.”

  Eyes round, she pulled her phone from the back pocket of her jeans. “You could have a punctured lung, internal injuries.” She swiped her thumb over the screen.

  He frowned. “What are you doing?”

  “Calling 911. You need an ambulance.”

  He grabbed the phone out of her hand. “You’re overreacting. I didn’t fall that far.”

  She gaped at him, glanced pointedly at the huge hole in the porch roof and then the shattered pile of wood that had once been a chair. “It’s not the fall I’m concerned about—it’s the landing.”

  She held her hand out for the phone but he shoved it in the front pocket of his jeans, earning an exasperated sigh from her.

  “I don’t care what you say, Riley Cooper. I’m taking you to the hospital.”

  “No.”

  Still on her knees beside him, she spoke through her teeth. “I’m serious. You could have a ruptured spleen or internal bleeding.” She held out her hand again. “Give. Me. The. Phone.”

  “No internal bleeding, I promise.” I hope. He braced his hands in another attempt to rise but his shoulder protested and his left hand failed to support his weight. Frowning, he lifted it and gave his wrist an experimental twist, but pain made the movement limited, and it was beginning to swell. Huh, that couldn’t be good. “But I might need to have this looked at.”

  “Your poor wrist.” Her hand flew to her mouth. “It could be broken. That’s it. I’m calling an ambulance. Give me the phone.”

  “Hey, it takes more than a fall from a roof to stop me.”

  She closed her eyes and made a choking sound.

  He touched her face. “Hey, hey, I will go to have the wrist looked at, but I refuse to go by ambulance. We can take my truck.”

  Opening her eyes, she stared at him, her eye freckles dark against the green-gold. “You shouldn’t be driving.”

  It was on the tip of his tongue to protest, but she was right. “You can drive.”

  “Your truck?” She shook her head. “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.”

  “I trust you.”

  She started to rise. “I’ll get my purse. I... I’m sorry I ever started this.”

  “Hey.” He grabbed her hand with his good one. “It’s not your fault. I knew better than to step without checking first.”

  He didn’t tell her anger had made him careless. How could he even contemplate not returning to his men? How could he protect them from here? How could he protect Meg from Afghanistan? Since when did he consider protecting Meg his job? The fall must have rattled a few screws loose.

  She bit her bottom lip and he wanted to lick the spot her teeth had touched. Really, Cooper, you’re going there now?

  She glanced at his hand clasping hers.

  He gripped her hand as if his life depended on it. Yep, definitely knocked some screws loose. He let go and she scrambled away. “I’ll get my purse.”

  At the door, she glanced back. “Sit. Stay.”

  His laugh turned into a groan. “Do I get a treat if I do?”

  “Maybe that could be arranged,” she tossed at him before disappearing into the house.

  Damn, what did he think he was playing at? Meg didn’t do temporary and that was all he was, no matter how tempted he’d been that night sitting in her kitchen. Besides, she had a kid and his father hadn’t set the best example. You did your best to protect your men in Afghanistan so you could learn. Yeah, he could teach her all he knew about heavy artillery and spotting IEDs.

  Rolling to his knees, he flattened his uninjured hand against the wall and slowly stood, ignoring the pain in his shoulder. At least he’d be on his feet when she got back. Yeah, like that was going to impress her after acting like a dumbass and falling through her roof.

  She came back out, a small purse under her arm. “Let’s get you into the truck.”

  “I don’t need help. I can make it on my own,” he grumbled but he had to admit he was hurting like a son of a bitch.

  She rolled her eyes. “Uh-huh. Humor me, ’kay?”

  He protested under his breath—he wasn’t giving up his man card that easily—but let her guide him to the pickup, leaning more heavily on her with each step.

  “Stubborn man,” she said and opened the passenger door. “Do you need help getting in?”

  “Of course not, but you’ll have to get my keys.”

  “Where are they?”

  “In my front pocket.” A look came over her face and he had to bite back a laugh and another groan. He cleared his throat. “Left-hand side.”

  She drew in a breath, causing her breasts to rise under the faded T-shirt. Without another word, she stuck her hand in his pocket and fished around for the keys. Even in as much pain as he was, he couldn’t help reacting to her groping fingers. He sucked in a breath.

  “Sorry,” she muttered and pulled out the keys, her cheeks pink. “Are you sure you don’t need help getting in?”

  “I got this.” He used his good hand for leverage and boosted himself into the passenger seat; grateful he made it on the first try, he didn’t think he had another one in him.

  She slammed the door, trotted around the front and climbed in while he fumbled with his seat belt.

  “Let me.” She leaned over him, filling his nostrils with the scent of strawberries. She clicked the belt in place and leaned back, her hair brushing across and catching on the stubble on his chin.

  “Thanks,” he muttered, angry with himself because she had to help him with such a simple task as buckling his seat belt. Angrier still because his body had reacted to her. Not a good time for this, Marine.

  He shifted in the seat and the slight movement made his ribs feel like he’d set them on fire. He swallowed hard against the nausea that roiled his stomach.

  So much for being a great protector. Meg was currently the one saving his butt.

  * * *

  The whole trip to the hospital, Meg glanced over at him, looking for reassurance that he was still breathing. That he hadn’t passed out. God, was this how he’d felt when he’d rushed her to the ER?

  “Quit your fretting,” he grumbled, but the lack of bite in his tone suggested he appreciated her concern.

  She pulled up to the emergency entrance at the hospital and turned off the engine. “Wait right here. I’ll come around and help you out,” she said, sliding out and landing on the pavement with a grunt.

  “I’m banged up a little, that’s all,” he argued.

  “Humor me,” she said, and then rounded the hood to his side, not at all surprised to see that he’d thrown his door open and was maneuvering his way out. Stubborn man. “Would you wait a minute? I’ll get a wheelchair.”

  “I. Am. Walking. In.” His feet hit the pavement and he stood, bent forward, leaning heavily on the door. His face paled.

  Her lips pressed into a thin line. “I’m getting the chair.”

  He straightened slowly. His brows slammed down. “I’m walking.”

  Huffing out an e
xasperated breath, she ducked under his arm. “Fine then, but at least lean on me.”

  “Meggie...”

  She looked up. “My mission, my rules, Marine.”

  He laughed. Had the gall to do so, which must’ve cost him, because he groaned. He let go of the door and draped his arm across her shoulders. “Don’t do that. It hurts when I laugh.”

  She staggered under his weight, but managed to remain upright. They made their way to the entrance and through a pair of glass doors that slid open to the same small waiting area. At least the nurse manning the desk was different.

  “Déjà vu all over again,” Meg muttered.

  “Did you not hear me when I said it hurts to laugh?” He settled in one of the seats.

  “Looks like you’re in a bit of pain,” the nurse observed, her eyes making a quick pass over him.

  “Fell through a roof,” he said.

  She tapped her finger on a small black pad. “Can you type your Social Security number into this for me?”

  He held up his hand with its rapidly swelling wrist. “Sorry, I’m left-handed.”

  “I’ll do it.” Meg leaned forward in the seat. “Give me the info and I’ll do the typing.”

  Meg keyed in the number as he recited it.

  “Where are you hurt?” the nurse asked and they went through the same routine as before.

  She knew Riley was doing his best to walk upright and under his own steam into the waiting area, but she stayed glued to his side. How long before he got to see a doctor? His eyes had drifted shut but a muscle ticked in his jaw.

  As it turned out, he didn’t have to wait long at all. The door to the ER buzzed open and Jan stepped through, pushing a wheelchair. His chin came up when Riley gave her what Meg guessed was his best I’m a marine and we don’t go by wheelchair look. Obviously, Jan had encountered this a time or two in her career because she leveled him with her I’m the one with the degree in nursing, so plant your butt in this chair glare.

  Riley mumbled under his breath and plopped himself down.

  “Good choice, Marine,” Jan said and smiled triumphantly.

  Jan turned the wheelchair toward the door she’d come through and Meg had started to follow when Jan said, “Same rules apply. Sergeant Cooper, are you okay with Meg coming back with us?”