Heart of a Hero (11 page)

“Are you feeling well?” she asked as she unbuckled Bridget’s car seat.

That appeared to startle him. “Yeah.” He indicated the child still sleeping on her mother’s shoulder. “Let’s go in and introduce Sleeping Beauty here to her grandpa.”

Phoebe’s stomach was in knots as Wade guided her to the side porch door that the family always used. He opened the door and gestured for her to precede him. As he entered behind her, he called, “Hey, Dad. Where are you?”

“Hello.” A deep rumbling voice much like Wade’s came from the direction of the kitchen.

Wade stepped around her and headed down the hallway leading to the kitchen, and a moment later his father appeared. “Well, this is a surprise! I thought you were going to be on the East Coast for at least a month.” The two men grabbed each other in a typically male, back-pounding hug.

Phoebe stood, rooted to the spot in horror. A
surprise?
Hadn’t Wade told his father about Bridget yet?

“…someone here I want you to meet,” Wade was saying as the men walked toward her.

Reston, Wade’s father, did a double take when he saw her standing there. “Phoebe Merriman. I didn’t know you were back in town, honey! It’s great to see you—and who’s this?” His tone was filled with delight. “I didn’t even know you’d gotten married and here you’re a mama.”

An immediate silence fell, awkwardness hanging in the air like thick smoke.

“Aw, hell.” Reston scrubbed a hand over his face. “Forget I just said that. Mothers don’t have to be married these days, I know.” He stumped on toward Phoebe, and she remembered that his uneven gait was the result of arthritis that forced him to favor one hip. When he reached her, he peered down at the sleeping child she had shifted to hold in the cradle of her arm. “Aren’t you a beauty?” he asked, his tone tender as he brushed a finger along Bridget’s cheek, catching one fiery curl on his fingertip. He chuckled. “Got that Merriman red hair, didn’t she?”

Phoebe nodded, forced herself to smile. “When she was born, all the nurses laughed because it was sticking straight out all over her head.”

Wade cleared his throat. “Ah, Dad? Can we sit down?”

Reston straightened and shot his son a wary look. “Okay. You bringing bad news?”

Wade shook his head. “No, I think you’re going to like this news.” He ushered Phoebe ahead of him into the living room and took a seat beside her on the couch. “There’s no easy way to tell you this, so I might as well just say it. Phoebe and I…well, the baby’s name is Bridget and I’m her father.”

I
’m her father.

Phoebe wondered if Wade’s words sounded as shocking to his parent as they did to her. How long was it going to take before she accepted that Wade was really alive—and in her life for good, if he had his way?

Reston Donnelly’s eyes widened and his mouth fell open. “Get out!”

“It’s true.” Wade smiled at his father’s obvious astonishment. “You’re a grandfather.”

Reston’s gaze flew back to Bridget. “That’s—you’re—she’s my granddaughter?”

Wade nodded.

“Why…?” Reston cleared his throat. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“He didn’t know,” Phoebe said hastily. She couldn’t bear the look of hurt on Reston’s face. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you—”

“Phoebe thought I was dead.” Wade cut off her attempt at apology. “She heard the first news after my unit got cut off, but she never got the correction when I was found.”

Reston’s head snapped up from his inspection of Bridget, his expression changing from hurt to horrified. “Oh, honey. If I’d known where to find you, I’d have let you know. No one knew where you’d gone after…”

“I know. I needed a fresh start.”

Reston nodded. He looked back down at the child in Phoebe’s arms. “I imagine you did.” His gaze landed on his son. “How’d you find her?”

Wade uttered a short bark of laughter. “Hounded every person she’d ever known, hoping someone could tell me where she was. I finally got lucky with one of her high-school friends.”

“Must have been the shock of your life when he showed up alive.” Reston transferred his gaze back to Phoebe.

“You could say that.” No way was she getting into that minefield. “Would you like to hold her?”

Reston nodded. “You bet.” Phoebe’s heart melted at the look in Wade’s father’s eyes. Dazed. Delighted. Tender.

Reston nodded. “Please.” He settled back in his chair as Phoebe rose and approached, laying Bridget in his arms. He cradled her in one gnarled hand, gently brushing her cheek with the other. “Oh, you’re a little beauty,” he whispered. “Bridget. Bridget Donnelly. That’s a good Irish name.” He shook his head and the light reflected the sheen of tears in his eyes. “Your grandma surely would have loved you.”

Phoebe’s chest hurt as she fought not to sob. She didn’t dare glance at Wade. She could imagine the wintry expression on his face without having to see it. But she didn’t try to correct Reston’s assumption about Bridget’s last name. There would be time for that.

Bridget started to fuss and Wade said, “Here. Let me see if I can settle her.” Phoebe did glance at him then, but he wasn’t looking at her. He lifted the baby and held her against his shoulder; it was amazing how natural the gesture looked after such a short time. Bridget quieted immediately and Wade grinned. “She’s turning into a daddy’s girl.”

Phoebe relaxed, one of those silly maternal things that happened when one’s child was well-behaved. Before Bridget, she’d never understood how parents could be so uptight. A screaming session in the middle of Wal-Mart could change your perspective pretty quickly. She dug in her bag and handed Reston a photo album into which she had slid pictures of Bridget right after her birth and at various ages since. “I brought you some pictures.”

Reston moved to the sofa and patted the seat beside him. His face was soft. “Sit down here and tell me about her.”

“I’ll join you.” Wade’s voice was quiet.

She glanced up at him, but he was looking at the album and wouldn’t meet her gaze. She knew he’d looked through the photo albums she’d kept since Bridget’s birth…but she’d never told him much about his daughter’s early days, she realized.

Remorse shot through her for about the zillionth time, and she mimicked his father’s motion, patting the cushion on the other side of her. “That would be nice. I haven’t told you that Bridget was almost born in the middle of a wedding.”

Wade froze. “What?”

She tugged on his arm and he sank down beside her, patting Bridget’s back in a distracted manner.
Smiling, she opened the photo album. On the first page, she’d placed the only picture she had of herself during her pregnancy.

“This picture was taken the day Bridget was born. I went to the wedding of a coworker and the photographer snapped this shot before the service while I was standing at the guest book.” She chuckled. “It’s a good thing he got a picture of me then!”

“You went into labor at the wedding?” Wade was looking a little green around the edges.

“I was already in labor,” she corrected. “But I was too dumb to realize it until about halfway through the ceremony. I just thought my back hurt from being on my feet so much the day before.”

Reston guffawed. “Bet you’ll never be that dumb again.”

A silence followed his hoot of laughter. A
pregnant
silence, she thought, as she cast around for a response. Would she ever be pregnant again?

Wade wanted her to marry him…but she hadn’t really let herself dwell on exactly what that would mean. Would he want other children?

An involuntary quiver deep in her belly made her shiver suddenly as her thoughts immediately turned to how those children would be created. Every nerve cell in her body homed in on Wade’s large, warm body sitting so close to hers. Hastily,
she shoved the photo album into Wade’s hands and leaped to her feet. “I’d like to freshen up.”

Sometimes it seems as if one thing just led to the next.

Wade could still hear the grief in Phoebe’s voice as he lay in the single bed in his childhood room that night. That phrase had been haunting him.

God, but he felt like the lowest of the low. She hadn’t said it, and he was pretty sure she hadn’t even thought about how it had sounded. But he knew that her life would never have turned out the way it had if it wasn’t for him.

If it wasn’t for you getting her pregnant, you mean.

Well, yeah, that was what he’d meant. If he’d kept his hands off her, if he’d given her the comfort that she’d really needed instead of the sex she’d thought would make her forget the pain, if he’d been less of a self-absorbed jerk afterward…. If, if, if.

No point in going any farther down that road. It was what it was. He and Phoebe had a daughter together. And they owed it to Bridget to work out their issues and give her the happy, stable home she deserved.

Which was why he had to figure out a way to get Phoebe to marry him. She had seemed so resistant to the idea. Why?

He was sure it wasn’t physical. God knew, they had enough chemistry between them to start a brush fire.

Unable to sleep, he rose and padded down the stairs in his bare feet. The little photo album Phoebe had given his father lay on the coffee table in the living room. The streetlight outside cast a few bars of light across the room and he idly picked up the scrapbook and flipped through it. Phoebe had spent more time earlier taking them through Bridget’s young life. Rolling over, sitting up, first teeth. Stuff he would have laughed at if the married guys in his unit had talked about it.

“Wade?”

Startled, he nearly dropped the album and he juggled it for a moment until he had it in his hands again. Phoebe stood on the lowest step.

“What are you doing?”

Her hair was down. Even in the darkened room, he could tell it was long. Longer than it had been a year and a half ago. He hadn’t realized it because, until now, she’d worn it scrambled up in a messy knot atop her head. It should have looked ridiculous but it was oddly charming. And even more so since he was pretty sure she hadn’t tried for that effect. For Phoebe, it was expedient to shove her hair up out of the way.

If it had been Melanie, she’d probably have worked on it for an hour in front of a mirror to achieve a like effect.
Melanie.
Were they ever going to talk about her? Her memory hovered between them like a helium balloon tied to a kid’s hand.

“Are you all right?” She was standing there with a concerned look on her face, clad in what resembled a men’s-style button-down shirt, although from the way it caught her at mid-thigh and fit her curves, he was pretty sure it hadn’t been designed for a man.

“I’m not sure,” he said slowly.

Before he knew what she intended, she was down the steps and across the room, placing one small, cool hand on his brow. “Do you feel sick?”

He looked at her, standing so close to him in the shadows of the small living room, her eyes wide and worried. “No,” he said. “I’m not sick.”

Immediately she began to withdraw her hand but he caught it before she could move away. “Don’t go.”

She stilled, but didn’t speak. Her gaze flew to his face again as he tugged on her hand, drawing her closer. He threaded one hand through her hair, cupping her cheek, and rubbed his thumb lightly over her lips. She swallowed. “Wade, I…” She stopped and shook her head. “I’m glad we came to visit your father.”

He smiled, letting his hand drift from her face to play with the cool, silky strands of hair. “Me, too. Bridget’s already got him wrapped around one of those little fingers. Thanks for letting him give her a bottle tonight.”

“He never stopped talking to her the entire time. Did you notice that?”

He nodded. “He sounded pretty ridiculous.”

“Like someone else I know.”

“Hey! I do not sound ridiculous.”

“You’re right,” she agreed. “Just infatuated. Totally, ridiculously infatuated.”

“It would be impossible not to be,” he agreed. “She’s perfect.”

“Well, almost, maybe,” she conceded.

“She’s a lot like her mother,” he said. “Wrapping men around her little finger.”

She snorted beneath her breath. “You know darn well I never wrapped a man around any part of me.”

Silence fell between them as her retort registered.

Immediately, his thoughts turned to the cabin in the woods where he’d made love to her. She’d been wrapped around him then, her long, slim legs gripping his hips as he’d plunged into her with so little restraint he winced at the memory even as his body responded to it. “I’d have to disagree with that,” he said, aware that his voice had roughened.

Phoebe moaned softly, dropping her head so that her hair fell forward to hide her expression. “Bad choice of words.”

He put a finger beneath her chin. She might not be willing to talk about Melanie, but he’d be damned if he was going to let her ignore what was between them, too. “Not so bad. It reminds me of making love with you.” He caressed her bottom lip with his thumb again. “Do you remember what it was like between us?”

She drew her breath in sharply and her body tensed. For a moment, he thought she wasn’t going to answer him at all. But finally, she whispered, “I remember.”

He was more pleased than the two small words warranted that she’d admitted it. Sliding his arms around her, he drew her close. “Let’s make a new memory.”

She didn’t resist as he found her mouth with his. His pulse doubled its rate when he felt her small hands creep around his back. Her mouth was soft and yielding beneath his, her body equally so. Touching the closed line of her lips with his tongue, he gently traced the tender seam until she opened for him, then deepened the kiss as he gathered her closer.

He took her arms and pulled them up around his neck as he feasted on her mouth. She was so much
shorter than he was that she had to stand practically on her toes, throwing her off balance and bringing her body to rest against his. Her soft belly pressed against him and his hardening shaft nestled into the cleft at her thighs, sending a surge of pleasure dancing up his spine.

Tearing his mouth from hers, he kissed a trail along the silken column of her neck, then nuzzled the collar of the nightshirt out of the way. She had only buttoned it as high as the one between her breasts, and he exposed a generous expanse of her pale flesh until the shirt drooped off one shoulder.