Having The Soldier's Baby. Tara Quinn Taylor
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didn’t change.
Winston had shared his with her. She still kept it tightly held within her heart.
“I realize that combat takes its toll,” she said now. Had he lost his legs? Or maybe his face had been blown up? Whatever, she didn’t care—other than for the pain he’d suffered and could still be suffering. “It’s fine. I’m fully capable of handling it. Just tell me where he is and when I can see him.”
“That’s just it, ma’am,” Hall said. “He doesn’t want to see you. Not yet.”
So he was that bad. She shook her head. Confused. Winston knew that while she was wildly attracted to him, physical appearance was only a small part of the bond between them.
“Not yet.” She homed in on what she felt she could master in the moment. “When, then?”
“Soon,” Chaplain Hall said while the medic remained alert, but mute. “He’s going to contact you, but felt that just dropping in on you would be too much...”
Too much? Frowning, she was done with the polite talk.
“Tell me what’s going on. What happened to him? He’s capable of just dropping in? Where is he? And how long have you known he’s alive?”
“We aren’t at liberty to answer all of that,” Hall said, his hat in his hands, literally. “I can assure you that physically, your husband is fine. In top shape. Mentally he’s as sharp as ever.”
Which left... “And emotionally?”
“He’s a changed man, Mrs. Hannigan. You need to be prepared.”
Suddenly she didn’t want to hear any more. Not from a team. Not from strangers. “Do his parents know?”
“No. He’s only been back in the States a short time. Because he was already declared dead, and because he’s of sound mind, and because everything about him right now, everything he’s been through, everything he knows, is of a sensitive nature, his wishes to remain as though dead were granted for a short time.”
“So now they’re being told as well?”
“Not yet. But soon.”
“So I’m to keep quiet about this?” Finally, a charge she could grasp hold of. Something she could be a part of.
“That’s up to you, Emily.” Chaplain Blaine spoke again. “Winston made it clear that if you needed to talk with your parents, or his, you were to be at liberty to do so. We’d only ask that you give the navy a chance to visit them first.”
She shook her head. Her husband obviously hadn’t wanted their families to know yet. He’d have reasons. “I’m fine to wait,” she said. “For as long as he needs.”
Forever, if that’s what it took him to be able to find his way back to her.
Because he would. She knew he would.
And when he did, she’d have a gift that would heal his hurting heart as only a miracle could do.
He’d had no plan. Why hadn’t he seen it? He’d changed his mind, told them to tell her and then he’d had no immediate plan for what came next. Shaking his head, Winston tried not to notice the possible mirrored shaking in his hand on the wheel of yet another rental car on Sunday morning.
He could buy his own car.
On base, he didn’t really need one. Had been able to borrow a ride, or, for the trips to Marie Cove, rent a vehicle quite easily. Much cleaner. No loan. No mess. California was a “community property” state. If he bought something while married, his wife had joint ownership. And joint responsibility for any debt.
He had no right to land Emily with debt.
Renting a car, driving to Marie Cove, had been nowhere on Sunday’s agenda. He’d had a visit from Officer Hall on Saturday afternoon, letting him know that Emily was aware he was alive. And that she’d said she’d keep his being alive a secret until he wanted it otherwise.
That was it. Hall had given him nothing else. Not a word about how she looked. How she took the news. If she had another man in her life.
Not one damned thing.
How could he know how to proceed with her on nothing? He needed intel, for Chrissake. He’d worked out on the lifting machine. Then run. Had a late dinner. Tried to write a bit—doing as ordered and making notes of his time in Afghanistan, cataloging things that had happened as they came to him.
Eventually he’d slept—without the help of the sleep aid one of the doctors he’d seen over the past weeks had prescribed to him.
And woken to stare at the ceiling and wonder if Emily was doing the same. Staring at the ceiling. Trying to understand why the man who’d known her deepest fears—and her greatest desires and secret fantasies—didn’t want to see her.
Had she asked how he was? Where he was?
What must her mind be doing to her this day? He’d been at the car rental place before they opened, and was on the road before he’d had time to think about the plan. And realized there wasn’t one.
Was he just going to show up on the doorstep? Would it be kinder to call first? And how would that go? “Emily, this is Winston...”
She’d know his voice the second she heard it. Maybe. Unless tonal quality changed with loss of soul.
She wouldn’t know the number. The navy had given him a temporary phone, pay-as-you-go, with its own number. Had Emily kept his number active? Been paying for it on their plan for two years even though he hadn’t been using it?
He knew she had. It’s what she’d do. Emily hadn’t changed. He had.
Of course, she’d thought him dead. For at least a month. A billing cycle. The number might be gone.
He didn’t think so.
Didn’t know why he was obsessing over a frickin’ number.
He wasn’t going to call her. What would be the point? He had to see her. To work out the legal details. He’d given his word.
And now that she knew he was alive, she deserved the truth. She needed to know that he was dead inside. It was the only way to set her free.
Pulling into the drive, he took a deep breath, allowing himself to experience fully as he’d been ordered. And felt...nothing. He knew the slope. Most of the cracks. Saw the little dent in the garage, lower right, where he’d run the riding mower a little too close because he’d been busy gazing at his wife, who’d come outside in a pair of really short denim shorts and a black halter top.
His brain computed the memory. Nothing else happened. Not anywhere. Not even a little twinge beneath the fly of his uniform khakis.
He hadn’t needed to wear them. He was off duty. He just needed to hit a store and get some clothes. Everything he’d had with him had been lost in the desert when he’d walked into the enemy camp and offered to become a traitor to his country to distract them long enough for his comrades to get to safety. Everything he’d left behind that day had been returned in a box of effects to his widow.
The navy had helped him get a new driver’s license. Had provided uniforms, skivvies, socks, shoes. Enough to last a few days. His barracks had a laundry facility.
He had to get out of the car to get the job done. So he did. Shut the door like a man with a job to do. Walked with straight shoulders and purpose toward the front steps. Climbed them.
The front door had been painted. It was beige now. Used to be white. Hand raised to knock, he was startled as the door flew open.
“Winston? Oh my God, Winston! I knew you’d come. I was waiting. I knew!”