The Seal's Secret Heirs. Kat Cantrell
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pink.
“Hi,” he mouthed back. “Is it time for our visit already?”
She nodded. “I can come back.”
She didn’t move as he gave a slight shake of his head. Carefully, he peeled his body from the chair, not jostling even one hair on the head of his precious bundles. As if he’d done it a million times, he laid first one, then the other in their cribs. Neither one woke.
It was a sight to see.
He turned and tiptoed toward the door, but she hadn’t moved from her frozen stance in the doorway yet. She should move.
But he stopped right there in front of her, a half smile lingering on his lips as he laid a hand on her arm, presumably to usher her from the room ahead of him. His palm was warm and her skin tingled under it. The feeling threatened to engulf her whole body in a way that she hadn’t been engulfed in a long time.
Not since Kyle.
Goodness, it seemed so ridiculous, but the real reason it hadn’t been hard to stop dating was because no one compared. She was almost thirty and had only had one lover in her life—this man before her with the sparkling green eyes and beautiful face. And she’d take that secret to the grave.
Her cheeks heated as she imagined admitting such a thing to a guy who had likely cut a wide swath through the eligible women beating a path to his door. He hadn’t let the grass grow under his feet, now, had he? Fathering twins with a woman he’d written off soon after spoke loudly enough to that question.
If she told him, he’d mistakenly assume she still had feelings for him, and that wasn’t exactly true. She just couldn’t find a man who fit her stringent criteria for intimacy. Call it old-fashioned, but she wanted to be in love before making love. And most men weren’t willing to be that patient.
Except Kyle. He’d never uttered one single complaint when he found out she wasn’t hopping into his bed after a few weeks of dating. And oh, my, had it been worth the wait.
The heat in her cheeks spread, and the tingles weren’t just under his palm. No, they were a good bit more in a region where she shouldn’t be getting so hot, especially not over Kyle and his brand-new warrior’s body, laser-sharp focus and gentle hands.
Mercy, she should stop thinking about all that. Except he was looking at her the way he had last night, gaze on her lips, and she wondered if he’d actually do it this time—kiss her as he had so many times before.
One of the babies yowled and the moment broke into pieces.
Kyle’s expression instantly morphed into one of concern as he spun toward the crib of the crying infant. Maddie. It was easy to tell them apart if you knew she was the smaller of the two girls. She’d worn a heart monitor for a long time but Grace didn’t see the telltale wires poking out of the baby’s tiny outfit. Hopefully that meant the multiple surgeries had been successful.
“Hey, now. What’s all this fuss?” he murmured, and scooped up the bundle of pink, holding her to his shoulder with rocking motions.
The baby cried harder. Lines of frustration popped up around Kyle’s mouth as he kept trying different positions against his shoulder, rocking harder, then slower.
“You liked this earlier,” he said. “I’m following procedure here, little lady. Give me a break.”
Grace hid a smile. “Maybe her diaper is wet.”
Kyle nodded and strode to the changing table. “One diaper change, coming up.”
He pulled a diaper from the drawer under the table, laid the baby on the foam pad, then tied the holding straps designed to keep Maddie from rolling to the ground with intricate knots. Next, he lined up the baby powder and diaper rash cream, determination rolling from him in thick waves. When the man put his mind to something, it was dizzying to watch.
With precision, he stripped the baby out of her onesie and took a swift kick to the wrist with good humor as he changed her diaper. It didn’t help. The baby wailed a little louder.
“No problem,” he said. “Babies usually cry for three reasons. They want to be held. Diaper. And...” A line appeared between Kyle’s brows.
Then Maggie woke up and cried in harmony with her sister.
“Want me to pick her up?” Grace asked.
“No. I can handle this. Don’t count me out yet.” He nestled the other baby into his arms, rocking both with little murmurs. “Bottle. That was the other one Hadley said. We’ll try eating.”
Bless his heart. He’d gone to Hadley for baby lessons. He was trying so hard, much harder than she’d expected. It warmed her in a whole different way than the sizzle a moment ago. And the swell in her heart was much more dangerous.
The bottle did the trick. After Kyle got both girls fed, they quieted down and fell back asleep in their cribs. This time, he and Grace made it out of the room, but when they reached the living area off the kitchen, flustered was too kind a word for the state of her nerves.
Kyle collapsed on the couch with a groan.
“So,” she croaked after taking a seat as far away from him as possible. “That was pretty stressful.”
“Nah.” He scrubbed his face with his hand and peeked out through his fingers. “Stressful is dismantling a home-made pipe bomb before it kills someone.”
They’d never talked about his life in the military—largely because he was so closemouthed about it—and judging from the shadows she glimpsed in his expression sometimes, the experience hadn’t softened him up any, that was for sure. “Is that what you did overseas? Handle explosives?”
Slowly, he nodded. “That was my specialty, yeah.”
He could have died. Easily. A hundred times over, and she’d probably never have known until they paraded his flag-draped coffin through the streets of Royal. The thought was upsetting in a way she really didn’t understand, which only served to heighten her already-precarious emotional state.
He’d been serving his country, not using the military as an excuse to stay away. The realization swept through her, blowing away some of her anger and leaving in its place a bit of guilt over never acknowledging his sacrifices in the name of liberty.
“And now you’re ready to buckle down and be a father.”
It seemed ludicrous. This powerful, strapping man wanted to trade bombs for babies. But when she recalled the finesse he used when handling the babies, she couldn’t deny that he had a delicate touch.
“I do what needs to be done,” he said quietly, and his green eyes radiated sincerity that she couldn’t quite look away from.
When had Kyle become so responsible? Such an adult? He was different in such baffling, subtle ways that she kept stumbling in her quest to objectively assess his fitness as a parent.
“Did you give any thought to our discussion yesterday?” she asked.
“The job? I signed on to head up Wade Ranch’s cattle division. How’s that for serious?”
Kyle leaned back against the couch cushions, looking much more at home in this less formal area than he’d been in the Victorian parlor yesterday, and crossed one booted foot over his knee. Cowboy boots, not the military-issue black boots he’d been wearing yesterday. It was a small detail, but a telling one.
He’d quietly transitioned roles when she wasn’t looking. Could it mean he’d been telling the truth when he’d said he planned to stay this time?
“It’s a start,” she said simply, but that didn’t begin to describe what was actually starting.
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