Bonnie Gardner - The Sergeant's Baby

As a woman of Middle-Eastern descent and an instructor at the Military Deployment Readiness School, she’d been busy training service members for the culture shock they would encounter when they arrived at their posts in the Middle East. Her days off had been few, given the current state of world affairs, but she was happy that she had settled into her present job.

She had already been a civil service employee, so when the bulletins seeking instructors with expertise about that part of the world had been posted, she had eagerly submitted her résumé. With her background, she’d readily gained the appointment. The opportunity couldn’t have come at a better time. She’d just been through a bitter breakup with the man she’d hoped to marry, and she’d appreciated the opportunity to move far away from him.

Though much of Ally’s knowledge of the Middle East had come because her mother had come from Tamahlya, a neighboring country to Tamahlyastan, the site of the current unpleasantness, the customs and traditions were so similar that they were nearly interchangeable. Ally had also taken courses in college on the subject. Little had she known then that the things she had learned from her mother and her esoteric college minor would ever be put to such good use.

She truly enjoyed preparing military and civilian personnel to take assignments in a part of the world where the lifestyles and traditions were completely alien to them. True, most of the men and women she taught already knew a lot about the restrictions in Middle Eastern society, but she was also able to explain and illustrate using her mother’s experiences.

To know that her students were well prepared for their foreign assignments was very satisfying. Thanks to her classes, they would be less likely to make innocent mistakes that could cause anything from a minor misunderstanding, such as using the wrong hand to pick up food, to a major incident like speaking to a woman without permission.

At 0729 hours, she gathered up her notes and her laptop computer and stepped from her office into the adjacent classroom. She was sure that her lesson plans would cover all instances that any of her students would encounter.

There were a few empty seats in the room, but a quick head count confirmed that everyone on her class printout was already present. She called the roll, more to become familiar with the men and women she would be working with than to ensure that they were who they were supposed to be. Attendance was never a problem in this training course.

She was halfway through the list when the classroom door opened.

Colonel Kathryn Palmore, the commander of the Air Force Deployment Readiness School, walked in. “I’m sorry to interrupt you, Ms. Carter,” she said, “but we have a few last-minute additions to your class.”

Allison smiled. She liked Kathryn Palmore and often spent spare moments discussing books, movies—anything but international affairs—with the attractive woman. “Certainly, Colonel,” she said. “We have a few extra chairs.”

Then her two last-minute students stepped into the room.

Their red berets folded and tucked into the large cargo pockets on the thighs of their camouflage battle-dress uniforms told Allison that they were combat controllers. Their specialized training allowed them to parachute into unfamiliar territory, secure an area and set up air-traffic control operations in advance of incoming aircraft. Such rigorous training made them a cocky group. How familiar she was with that uniform, those men—and one combat controller in particular.

“Sorry to interrupt you, Miz Carter,” a familiar voice, laced with sarcasm, said.

Allison looked into Danny Murphey’s eyes. His russet hair was cut regulation short as always; his battle-dress uniform was as immaculately pressed as ever. He was the consummate air commando, from his red beret down to the high-laced jump boots.

The anger in his tone, however, was certainly not regulation, and it was impossible to ignore. His Irish eyes were not smiling, and Allison knew why.

Her breath caught and her heart skipped a beat. They may have broken up over two years ago, but she and Danny seemed destined to forever walk in and out of each other’s lives. The last time had been just six months ago, and Danny was obviously unhappy about the way she had left him that time.

He would be even less amused if he figured out her secret. Considering her rounded belly, it wouldn’t be a matter of if but when.

Steeling herself for anything, Allison watched as Danny and the other man—someone she didn’t know—sauntered confidently into the room. “Have a seat, gentlemen,” she said, mustering up a brisk, professional tone. “I’ll check your paperwork later. We’re just about to get started.”

Allison didn’t need to read any paperwork to know the vital statistics for Technical Sergeant Daniel Xavier Murphey. She’d been intimate with every inch of his well-muscled physique, from his hair to his feet. She’d known him almost as well as she knew herself. No, she didn’t need to read anything. His eyes used to shine down on her, but that was before he’d issued the ultimatum that had been the beginning of the end.

Colonel Palmore stepped outside, leaving Allison to deal with her students.

Though she had hoped it would take Danny days to notice, Allison saw it the instant Danny realized her condition. His eyes narrowed, and he seemed to hold her against the dry-erase board behind her with his accusing gaze. Allison held her breath and readied herself for the scene she was certain he was going to make.

To his credit, Danny held his tongue, but Allison felt his apparent acceptance, his silence, like the tension of waiting for a time bomb to go off once the button had been pushed. The minutes crawled by. How was she going to get through the rest of the morning, the remainder of the class, anticipating the explosion that was sure to come.

DANNY DIDN’T KNOW how he’d managed to keep it together through that interminable morning, but he had. Now was his chance. He couldn’t believe that the woman he’d wanted to spend the rest of his life with had found someone else so quickly—someone who was obviously okay with her working and carrying a baby at the same time.

Ally hadn’t changed much since he’d last seen her six months ago. Except for her swelling belly, she was still petite and slim. Her jet-black hair was pinned up in a businesslike manner in deference to her job, but Danny remembered that it shone like black silk and smelled of roses when he pulled out the hairpins and let it tumble loose around her shoulders. How he’d loved to rake his fingers through her long locks.

He shook the image out of his head. No, he couldn’t keep thinking of her that way. Ms. Carter—he had to think of her as that—had finally excused the class, giving them a little over an hour to eat at either the base chow hall, the Servicemen’s Club or some other nearby eating establishment before class reconvened. Jake Magnussen, the guy who had walked in late with him, had jerked his head for Danny to come on, but Danny waved him off. “I want to ask the instructor something,” he had said, and Magnussen went on without him.

Danny was now alone in the room with Allison Carter, the woman who’d been a major player in his dreams for the future. “I guess congratulations are in order,” he said slowly, trying mightily to temper his anger and disguise his pain. He hated like hell that Allison—his Ally—might realize just how much her rejection had hurt him.

Ally looked up from busily policing her stuff. Obviously startled by the sound of his voice, she nearly dropped the notes she’d been gathering. “Oh,” she squeaked, “I thought I was alone.”

“I said,” Danny repeated, pausing for effect, “that I thought I needed to congratulate you.”