Rogenna Brewer - The SEAL's Baby

“We didn’t get much time in the receiving line. I just wanted to find out how you were settling in.”

“I’ve only been here a couple of days for orientation, but fine, so far.”

“Good, good.” He moved farther into the office, picking up the picture of Fallon from Hannah’s desk. “Have you enrolled her in swimming lessons yet? They offer Mommy and Me classes on base. I regret not having that experience with Libby. Drown-proofing SEAL style was the extent of our lessons.”

Hannah pushed the disturbing image aside. She doubted that meant he’d thrown his daughter into a pool with hands and feet bound like the BUD/S in training. Still… “You must have made up for it at some point. She obviously loves the water now.” Hannah wouldn’t be drown-proofing her own daughter anytime soon—if ever.

“Almost drowned when she was six. Riptide out in the Bay. For years she wouldn’t go near water. But as you pointed out, she loves it now.”

“Did you need to speak with me about Libby, Admiral?”

“It’s nothing really.” He took her cue and set the picture aside. “Just that she doesn’t like being the admiral’s kid. So…no special treatment, you understand. She wants to find her own way in the world. Which is of course why she enlisted when her mother and I would have preferred she get a college education and a commission. Or steer clear of military service altogether.” He hesitated for a moment. “She transferred into your unit, Commander, because she sees you as a role model.”

Hannah adjusted Fallon higher on her shoulder.

His wise gaze settled on her and the baby in her arms. “I understand you’re a single mother?”

Hannah stiffened. “Yes, sir.”

“I imagine you feel a little like you’ve been thrown in the deep end.”

“We’re keeping our heads above water.”

“I’m assuming you have a parenting plan in place?”

This wasn’t the civilian world. He had a right, a responsibility to pry. But men in general just didn’t get it. She needed a wife more than she needed a husband.

“Just like every other working mother in America.”

“Only the commute is to hell in a helicopter and the business trips last months, even years,” he pointed out.

“My note to the nanny includes a power of attorney. And a will. I’ve filled out the Navy’s Dependent Care Certificate. I could fax a copy to your office—” She rummaged the Out box on her desk for proof. “My sister’s taken on the baby’s guardianship—”

“That won’t be necessary, Commander. I’m just checking to see that everything’s a go for Monday.”

“Yes, of course. Squadron Nine has coordinated efforts for the joint training op with SEAL Team One. We’ll be wheels up at 0700 sharp.”

“Just the same, if you need anything, anything at all, don’t hesitate to ask…”

“Thank you, Admiral. I’m indebted—”

He shook his head. “Your father already paid that debt.”

Hannah’s chest tightened.

“Did you know him?” She failed to keep the wistfulness out of her voice.

“We served together for a time in the brown water Navy of Vietnam. He hated those mud puddles…” The admiral broke off eye contact. “He spoke of you often.”

True or not, it was the nicest possible thing he could have said to her. “And after the war?”

The admiral shook his head. “He stayed with Team One. And I went on to form the counterterrorist group, Team Eleven.”

“They told my mother he died in a training accident.”

He wasn’t supposed to die. The war was over. He’d promised to return. He’d kissed her and her sister and her mother and he’d promised.

“What can I bring you for your birthday, pumpkin?”

“An Easy Bake oven.”

He looked helplessly at her mother, standing in the doorway, holding the baby. “Are you sure you’re old enough? How old are you going to be anyway? Five? Six?” he teased.

“Seven, Daddy. You know I’m going to be seven.”

“Seven. You can’t be seven. You’re growing up too fast.” He lifted her in the air and spun her around. “I’m going to have to start beating those boys off with a baseball bat. Are you sure I can’t bring you a new ball and glove?”

She giggled. “You can bring me whatever you want, Daddy, as long as you promise you’ll be home to help blow out the candles and cut the cake.”

He didn’t promise in words, he never promised in words. But he hugged her so tight the promise didn’t have to be spoken, it was there in the way he loved her.

The admiral didn’t comment further. He simply nodded and changed the subject. “If I’m not mistaken, last year around this time your squadron drilled with Team Eleven, McCaffrey and his boys?”

What could she say except “Yes, sir.”

Maybe the admiral didn’t think the change in subject was such a stretch. He followed his question with a lifted eyebrow, clearly expecting her to elaborate.

She didn’t.

He offered one last bit of advice. “Sometimes the only way to conquer a fear is to face the harsh reality of it.”

When he left, Hannah breathed a sigh of relief. She strapped Fallon back into her stroller, then quickly stripped out of her uniform jacket. She’d soaked through her nursing pads to her blouse.

Luckily she kept spare uniforms at the office and still had a few of her dwindling supply of nursing pads in the diaper bag. Monday would be her first separation from her baby girl—two weeks of training exercises in the Nevada desert. Weaning Fallon earlier than she would have liked had been one of those not so small sacrifices required to do her job.

Buttoning her jacket after changing blouses, she decided to bolster her confidence with an old flight-school trick. She picked up an orange, an apple and a stress ball from her desk. “Want to see what Mommy can do?” she asked, juggling the balls.

Fallon followed with bright-eyed fascination.

“The trick is running through calculations at the same time. If an HH-60H Seahawk leaves S.C.I. at 1000 hours, flying at a maximum air speed of one hundred and eighty knots, how long— Oops!” The orange bounced across the desk, rolling into the flower vase. Hannah averted disaster. Almost. She caught the vase, but she’d dropped several balls today. “The idea is to keep all the balls in the air. And the answer is he never should have made it.”

Setting her juggling act aside, she plucked the card from the flowers. You’ve taken command of my heart. Love Peter.

“Shoot!” It looked like she had a man caught in those crosshairs after all.

OFFICERS’ CLUB NORTH ISLAND

Coronado, California

“WAITING FOR Lieutenant Commander Stanton?” Mike strode up to the lieutenant, impatiently cooling his heels at the curb outside the Officers’ Club.

“Sir. Yes, sir.” Spencer “Hollywood” Holden acknowledged Mike with a sharp salute, but he was trying too hard in Mike’s opinion. He still had a hard time believing the former child-star hadn’t joined the Navy as some sort of publicity stunt.

“Not anymore,” Mike said, returning the salute. “Dismissed, Lieutenant.”

“Sir?”

“Lend me the getup. Sword and gloves.”

Holden complied without question. Good thing, because Mike wasn’t in the mood for insubordination.

Stripped of his gear, Hannah’s co-pilot didn’t seem so Tom Cruise cocky. Which made up for Mike having to stretch the white gloves and let the belt out a notch. But both would do in a pinch.

Even without the added flash of his Full Dress medals, anyone could see by his ribbon résumé he was a highly decorated officer. A highly decorated officer making an ass of himself over a woman. Hell, he was in good company. For centuries men had waged entire wars over women. And Mike was in the mood for a fight.