Tawny Weber - Call To Honor

Wrinkling his nose, the kid grabbed the bike by the handlebars. “What’s that mean? Do you know?”

It meant that Jeremy’s dad better watch out or one of those moms was gonna kick his patronizing ass.

“What do you think it means?” Diego asked instead of sharing that opinion.

“I dunno. I asked my mom, and all she said was that even Neanderthals had their uses. What’s that mean?” Never taking his eyes off Diego, he straddled his bike. “Isn’t a Neanderthal a guy who rides dinosaurs?”

Diego grinned at the image of a caveman saddling a T. rex for a ride through lava flow.

“I suppose your mom meant that some people’s attitudes are stuck in the dark ages. That their brains haven’t grown much since the caveman days.” After half a second, Diego added, “Maybe you shouldn’t say that to this guy, though. People who think that way tend to dislike being called on it.”

“Okay.” The boy shrugged. “I’ll see you again, right? Cuz we’re neighbors now.”

“Yeah. We’ll see each other again.”

The boy flashed a bright smile and waved one grubby hand before riding away.

Diego watched the boy drop the bike against the side of the house in clattering disregard before running toward the front door, pausing to toss another friendly wave over his shoulder.

The kid had talked more in that ten minutes than Diego had in the last ten days. And that, Diego realized, was a certified entry into Ramsey’s world.

As he strode toward his fancy new barracks, he assessed the neighborhood’s security and debated various means of getting to see that kid again. Another twenty minutes, half hour tops, and he’d get all the intel he needed to clear Ramsey or nail his ass to the wall. And maybe, just maybe, get a little more info on the sexy blonde and who had apparently a very creative sex life.

It wasn’t until he stepped through the front door that he realized he was grinning.

* * *

HARPER COULDN’T RELAX.

Not even after Nathan was inside, safe and sound.

Feeling like she’d been punched in the gut, she could only stand in her kitchen and stare at the box from Petty Officer Dane Adams. Apparently the man thought she, or rather, Nathan, would want some of Brandon’s effects.

Why?

They’d done just fine without a single thing from him—other than DNA. Why would that change because he was dead? She’d figured it didn’t matter. Even after she’d received notice of Brandon’s death, she’d decided she’d set it aside to tell Nathan later, when he was older and might better understand.

She glared at the box, hating it and everything it represented. She wanted to ignore it. Her gut told her to ignore everything, to continue to pretend that it didn’t exist. That he didn’t exist. But she couldn’t. Not anymore.

Once, when he’d been four, her sweet little boy had asked why he didn’t have a dad like some of the other kids in his preschool class. All she’d been able to come up with was that the man had made a choice and gone away. That must have been enough for Nathan, because he’d never asked again, and she’d been happy to leave it that way.

Harper pressed her hand against the churning misery in her belly. She’d told herself she was waiting for the right time to tell him. Really, she’d been ignoring it, and quite nicely, too. And it had been working just fine.

A part of her wanted to continue ignoring it, to throw the box in the trash and be done with the entire issue. Taking a deep breath she tore open the plastic packing slip envelope. Inside was a simple note.

Ms. Maclean,

Brandon Ramsey was a hero. A man to be proud of. His death is a blow to his friends, to his team and to the country. It’s important that we honor our heroes. Please pass on these things to his son, so he can honor his father.

Dane Adams

So not only had Brandon known about Nathan, and where to find them, but his friend did, too. Which meant she couldn’t ignore this. Not until she was sure that the Ramseys with their high-powered attorneys weren’t going to show up next. She forced herself to cut through the packing tape. She unfolded the flaps and, cringing only a little, lifted aside the neatly folded tissue paper.

On top was a large envelope with her name on it, and beneath that what looked like a small leather-bound book or photo album. She didn’t open it. Couldn’t. Not yet. She set it aside to look at the rest. A rosewood box of ribbons and medals. At least a dozen bound certifications for things like marksmanship and diving. Even a cap, the white fabric and black plastic formal and stiff.

She didn’t know this world. She didn’t know the man who’d belonged in it. Why was she bringing it into her son’s life?

Because she didn’t have a choice, she realized with a sigh. Eyes burning with tears she refused to shed, Harper tucked the box under the kitchen desk, then tossed the note and large envelope addressed to her on the built-in kitchen desk to deal with later. She wanted to toss the box out the door but refrained.

Did she need this right now? She stormed through dinner prep like a woman riding a tornado. Oil heated, lettuce ripped and—screw it—the oven door slammed on frozen French fries.

Wasn’t it enough to have to deal with Nathan going away on his first trip longer than an overnight sleepover? Not only away, but away at camp on a tiny island in the middle of the freaking ocean. Okay, not quite the middle, but it was an island and it was surrounded by Pacific waters.

She was handling that, wasn’t she? Granted, she hadn’t told him that he was going yet. Once she did, she wouldn’t be able to change her mind. This morning Andi, with her usual efficiency, had forwarded the email showing the camp registration fee paid in full. Now Harper had no choice. But she hadn’t had a tantrum about that, had she?

Had she climbed onto the roof, yanked at her hair and screamed her throat raw yet over Brandon’s dramatic reentry into her life? Leave it to him to force his presence into Nathan’s life in a way she couldn’t stop. He would have known she’d tell him to take a flying leap if he’d contacted her about meeting Nathan, about being a part of her son’s life. He’d had his chance. He’d made his choice.

Now he’d never get to change his mind, or try to change hers. Her gaze slid to the red-and-blue-striped priority shipping box that’d been delivered an hour ago. She’d shoved it under the small kitchen desk, half-hidden but all too visible.

Harper grabbed her drink. Her teeth clenched tight on the straw as she sucked down a long sip of lemon-infused water and tried to settle the flood of emotions pouring through her. The water cooled her throat, but it didn’t help with the confusion storming through her chest.

Was she supposed to be sad? Was she supposed to grieve? And how did she tell her son that the father she’d never once mentioned was dead? Would he care? By trying to keep him from getting hurt, had hiding Brandon from Nathan actually hurt him?

And how was that for a convoluted guilt trip? Harper closed her eyes to the pain she didn’t understand and took a shaky breath. A part of her wanted to gather Nathan and run, hide. The rest wanted to climb in bed, pull the covers over her head and pretend that none of this was happening.

Since Harper was made of stronger stuff than that, she did neither.

Instead she finished dinner preparations.

“Mom, I’m starving. Like, I could eat a whole Tauntaun,” Nathan announced as he ran into the kitchen.

“I didn’t have time to stop by the planet Hoth for Tauntaun, so we’re having chicken instead.” Harper forced a smile. She had to struggle with some of the Star Wars references, but anything from the first three movies, she was solid on. She pointed a finger at her son before he could slide into his chair. “Wash. Then set the table.”