Tara Quinn - Having The Soldier's Baby

“Could also be that having been in captivity for two years earned me six months of leave.” Not that he was expecting the immediate future to be a vacation. He’d be debriefing with select, hand-chosen individuals. Two years of information collection was filed in his brain. No one asked him to collect it. But since he had, they wanted it. About as much as he wanted them to have it.

“The order isn’t written as vacation leave time,” she said, looking down as though rereading what she’d probably already committed to memory.

Semantics. He said nothing. Didn’t move. Or drop his gaze from hers. Bring it on. Whatever she had to dish out...he could take. And then some.

“Your superiors think you need my help,” Dr. Adamson said, closing his file and leaning her forearms on her desk over it as she looked at him. “In order to survive, you built defenses. Exactly what you’ve been trained to do.”

He gave her a bit of a shrug. Probably of acknowledgment.

“Your task now is to let some of them go. That takes time. You know what you know. I’m not debating that. Or even saying it’s wrong. But if you’re going to be of any further service to the United States, to the navy, you need to figure out which of those defenses no longer serve you and lose them.”

Right. Fine. He probably didn’t have to listen to every conversation in the next room anymore as a way of watching his back. Or sleep a few hours every day in the bunker he’d dug so that he could stay awake during the night when others thought he was asleep. He didn’t need to watch his back quite so much now that there were others around who’d share the burden while he watched theirs. Maybe he didn’t need to control every single thought he had.

He’d already reached these conclusions. Didn’t need her telling him what he already knew. But he needed her signature, releasing him.

If she wanted him to spell things out, he would. But only if it came to that or no signature. His thoughts were the one thing no one had taken from him.

“What you do is your choice, of course. Always. But for me to be able to release you back to active duty, in any capacity, I’m going to need some specific things from you.”

His arm dropped from the back of the couch as he leaned forward. Ready.

“I’m going to need to see you at least twice a month over the next six months.”

He’d been prepared for twice weekly. He hid a smile as he mentally applauded her good judgment. “Done.”

“When you return, two weeks from today, I’d like you to have a more permanent place to live.”

He was fine in the barracks. But...he could easily afford an apartment, too. He nodded.

“And I need you to go see your wife. If you want someone to prepare her ahead of time, let her know that you’re still alive, I can see to that.”

Had she listened to anything he’d said? The muscles in his jaw tensing, Winston clamped his jaws together. Took a long, slow breath. Reminded himself that he was an officer in the United States Navy.

“Whatever arrangements the two of you make are up to you, but you have to make them. With her. Or her lawyer.”

Her lawyer? As in divorce?

He supposed, if he was going to be alive to Emily, divorce would come, but...

“Let me get this straight. Before I can go back to serving my country... I have to hurt my wife? Make her suffer more than she already has?”

“You have to learn how to interact with people in a more normal interpersonal way, Officer. Your wife has a mind of her own. You don’t have the right to take her choices away from her. Or her suffering, if that’s what’s to come her way. It’s also important that you be capable of handling life’s emotional ups and downs rather than running from them, but first and foremost, you can’t go through life, at least not navy life, thinking that you know best for everyone else.”

She was staring straight at him and one clear fact hit so hard he almost physically cringed. The navy had given her a charge. She could only release him back to them if she could confidently assure them that, in her opinion, he could, and would, follow orders.

He was paying for his choice to act of his own accord. His choice to go rogue.

And that, he understood.

Wednesday. June 19. He left Dr. Adamson’s office, after one hour to the minute, having agreed to her demands.

All of them.

Chapter Four

She’d had the home pregnancy test for a week. Had carried the box in her bag for the first couple of days, then moved it to the cupboard by the toilet in the master bath.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to know. She just didn’t want to get her hopes up, or dashed, with false readings. The doctor had said two weeks.

So there she was, in a short gray skirt and matching short jacket, with three-inch heels and a silk blouse, dressed for her noon business meeting in LA, sitting on a plastic chair in an examining room at the Elliott clinic, having just peed in a cup. She’d given blood the day before.

She’d deal with facts. She just couldn’t tolerate any more doubt-induced head games. Either she was, or she wasn’t. If she was...then...

Tears spurted up out of nowhere and she took a deep breath.

And if she wasn’t, she’d try again.

If she couldn’t ever get pregnant... If the problem had been her all along... If there’d been a problem other than timing or over-trying...

The door opened and a doctor she’d never met before walked in. She could have received the news over the phone. The protection of the sterile little brick-walled examination room, with a calm professional discussing options, had seemed more doable to her.

“Well?” she asked, before the woman could even introduce herself. Dr. Hamilton, her tag read. Did it mean something that a doctor and not a PA had come to see her?

“Is something wrong?” she blurted. “I was expecting the nurse, or...”

“Christine asked me to speak with you.”

Heart thudding and dropping like lead weight in her stomach, she straightened her back. “Something’s wrong.”

“No.” The blond-haired woman, in dark pants and a purple short-sleeved blouse, pulled a stool over to sit in front of Emily. Close. Too close. The doctor smiled.

“You’re pregnant,” she said. “Due March 14. Christine thought you might have some questions.”

Pregnant? She was pregnant? As in... Winston’s child was right there, in the room with them, inside her, growing into life?

“I’m going to have a baby?” She couldn’t make out Dr. Hamilton’s features clearly. Tears blurred her vision. Trying to brush them away with a shaking hand, she shook her head. Wanted to apologize. Was afraid if she spoke, sobs would erupt.

Oh, good God, she was pregnant? After all those years of trying. Of disappointment.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” The doctor’s voice reached her as though from afar. Because Emily had been far away—in other doctors’ offices, in another room in that very clinic, with Winston, needing their baby so badly...

“Oh, yes!” she said, sniffling. Kind of giggling. “Yes, God, yes! I just... I guess I didn’t really believe it would happen! I’m actually pregnant!” She grinned. Sniffled again.

Dr. Hamilton grinned back at her. “You’ll have appointments to schedule, and we’ll be prescribing vitamins and tests along the way, but for now, all you have to do is celebrate.”

And buy a nursery. Call her mother. And Winston’s parents. Or...

Maybe not yet. The nursery, okay. But the parents?

Lord knew she didn’t want them descending on her. And they would. All the way from Florida—and most certainly from San Diego.

Besides, what if she...

“Am I at more risk for miscarriage? Since I was inseminated? And struggled to get pregnant to begin with?” She stared, solemn-faced, at the friendly doctor. Who was already shaking her head.