The Marine's Secret Daughter
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Carrie Nichols
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17,6K
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14
HarlequinChapter One
The truth could be inconvenient, but he’d be damned if he’d give those doctors the satisfaction of being right.
Riley Cooper slammed the door of his truck and rolled his shoulder to work out the stiffness, but all that time on the road without anything stronger than ibuprofen hadn’t helped. The doc had prescribed Percocet, but the meds made him drowsy. And the way he figured it, taking the drugs would be an easy out, considering the pain his buddies had died with, and their families still lived with. At the base hospital, they’d prodded and poked him and labeled his condition survivor’s guilt. The way they’d said condition had him grinding his molars. They wanted guilt? Being tucked away in the tranquil mountains of Vermont instead of Afghanistan, leading his men—now that was guilt.
The therapist had told him, You need to take time to heal your body and clear your head before I can sign off on your return to combat. Take thirty days, Sergeant, and maybe I’ll consider putting you back in theater.
Riley’s fist tightened around the key as the therapist’s words swirled in his head like debris kicked up from helicopter rotor wash. His shoulder was healing, and except for the occasional ringing in his ears, he was good. Damn good. He needed to get back to Afghanistan, to his men, to his life, not spend time in the back of beyond, losing his edge. He wasn’t himself here in this peaceful town, but on the battlefield, he had a purpose, a reason to do what he was doing and men to protect.
Vegas for R&R had been an option, but summers spent at Loon Lake with the McBrides were treasured memories from his childhood. Warm days spent with Liam exploring the woods, building forts, swimming. All with Liam’s younger sister, Meggie, trailing behind. Coming to the lake wouldn’t bring those days back, but this place might provide some measure of comfort.
The two cottages were one hundred yards from the main road and surrounded on three sides by trees, making it seem as if they were the only buildings in the wilderness. A shared driveway meant one entrance for vehicles, easy to guard and—
Chill, Marine, you’re not on duty.
He stood in the driveway of his rented cottage and stared next door. With its open porch and natural clapboard siding, the neighboring cottage mirrored this one except for its state of disrepair, which confirmed what he’d heard. The McBrides had not used the cottage after Mrs. McBride’s death. But as far as he knew, widower Mac still owned the place, unlike Riley’s parents, who’d sold theirs during the divorce because each couldn’t stand the thought of the other one having it. The way he figured it, the cottage came out ahead.
Two bright red Adirondack chairs on the porch across the yard caught his attention. Strange. Those chairs appeared freshly painted. He scanned the area, searching for other anomalies. An engine noise sent him into a crouch until he realized it was an outboard motor; not surprising since the lake was beyond the trees.
Stand down, Marine, there are no armed insurgents in Loon Lake.
He cursed under his breath. Even here, in this placid setting, the vigilance remained. He still felt the initial numbness from the blast wave, the acrid cordite stinging his nose, Private Trejo’s screams filling his ears.
He took a deep breath and held it before releasing. No smoke. No burning flesh. Just clean air and evergreens. Situation normal.
Last time he’d been here, his head had been filled with Meghan McBride, not hostiles. But that was before, and if nothing else, Afghanistan had shown him what he was capable of. He’d seen too much, done too much, and would never be the man Meggie had once loved. He sighed and stretched his neck.
He turned his back on the McBrides’ vacation home, shoved those thoughts into a box marked “regrets” and locked it tight. A bit of time to heal and he’d be on his way...back to where life had a purpose. When he was in a mine-resistant armored carrier, scouting routes for vehicle convoys or picking spots for marine units to bivouac overnight in the field, thinking about Meggie had kept him company and provided a sweet torture. Three years after enlisting and leaving Meggie behind, he’d returned for his Gran’s funeral and discovered the skinny girl he’d spent summers with had morphed into a young woman.
He batted away a persistent gnat and inserted the key into the lock, wincing when he picked up the duffel. The cottage smelled like lemon oil and pine-scented cleaner. Despite the short notice, the rental agent had come through on her promise of getting the place cleaned, but hints of past summers wafted around him. He tossed his bag onto the brown leather sofa, removed his desert camo cover and dropped the cap onto the tan canvas duffel.
In the kitchen he checked to see if the cleaning lady had stocked the few staples he’d requested. Sure enough, the refrigerator had milk, eggs and cold cuts, and the cupboards held canned goods and bread. He’d be set for a few days. One of the reasons he’d chosen Loon Lake was its remoteness. He’d be alone here, just him and a couple of bottles of Jack Daniel’s if his mind insisted on tracking back to Meggie.
I never thought you’d take advantage of my sister’s crush on you.
Liam McBride’s incensed accusations echoed in his head like explosive antitank shells. He’d been six months into his first deployment when Liam had left those angry voice mails. But then five years had passed without another word.
Meggie represented his biggest regret. He could’ve—no, make that should’ve—ended things more gently, tried harder to make her understand. And frankly, he should regret spending that one glorious night with her. But he didn’t.
He cursed once more under his breath. This R&R was mandatory if he wanted to get back to the real world, but the next thirty days stretched before him, dark and dense, like the forest blocking his view of the lake. Maybe he should’ve done Vegas.
A strong musty odor drew him across the kitchen to the open basement door. Before shutting it, he glanced down the stairs—What the...?
A woman sat on the bottom step, her back to him and a laundry basket on her lap, her back moving as she struggled to breathe.
“Hello? Ma’am?” Something was familiar in her movement. He took a couple steps down. “Ma’am?”
The slight figure stiffened but didn’t turn around or respond. Riley clattered down the stairs, squeezing past and squatting in front of her. “Ma’am, are you—Meggie?”
His gaze froze on her green eyes, and adrenaline surged through him. What was Meg doing in his rental cabin? In his mind she’d gone on to teach elementary school in Boston. His gut clenched.
“Riley? What are you—” She began coughing and gasping, holding her chest, her wheezing more than audible.
She was sick and needed help. He commanded his emotions to stand down. “Is it your asthma?”
He’d known Meg suffered from the condition, even witnessed an attack or two in the past, but that didn’t stop his stupid heart from racing.
“Just...catching...my breath.” She coughed a few more times, her breathing labored. “What...are you...doing here?”
He pulled the laundry basket away and, ignoring her gasped cries of protest, tossed it aside.
“Hey, those towels were...clean.” She managed to get on her feet.
He grabbed her arm to steady her. “Forget the laundry. Where’s your medicine?”
God, she was prettier than he’d remembered—fantasized about—with curly red hair, green eyes with stunning flecks of hazel and gold, and thin, elegant hands, but her body now had the well-rounded curves of a woman. She dug into the pocket of her Red Sox hoodie, produced an inhaler and held it up.
As he’d done in Afghanistan, he tried to bury everything to focus on the mission. But this was more than a mission. This was Meggie. He gentled his grip on her arm. “Why aren’t you using it?”
She shook the L-shaped canister and winced. “Empty.”
The musty air was thin and even he had the urge to cough. “Let’s get you upstairs and into some fresh air.”
“Thanks.” Shoving the inhaler back into her pocket, she swayed. Her wheezing had increased and she grew paler by the minute, but she eyed the basket of laundry as if she meant to bring it upstairs, too.
“I’ll get that later.” He studied her pale face, searching for a glimpse of the young woman he’d left behind, but this Meggie was all grown up, and her green eyes sparked with emotions he couldn’t decipher.
She slapped her foot on the step just as another cough rattled through her and tipped backward, her arms flailing for the handrail.
Riley braced her against his chest, and her head hit him square in the injured shoulder, but he smothered the groan before it escaped. She steadied herself and pulled away, shaking off his hold on her arms. Grabbing the handrail, she marched up the stairs, coughing with each step. He followed close enough to catch her if she faltered again.
Upstairs he placed his hands on her shoulders and led her to the kitchen table, pulling out a chair with his foot. “Sit.”
“I’m...” But she began coughing again and sank into the chair, one hand pressed flat against her chest, concern etched onto her face.
He pointed a finger. “Sit. Stay.”
Her head jerked back. “Roll...over? Play d-dead?”
He grinned and she started to smile, but lost it to another cough. He threw open cupboards, impatient to find a glass. Finally locating one, he filled it with water and brought it to her, cupping her hands around it. “Drink this.”
She made a noise that might have been a laugh or a cough. “What for?”
Yeah, what was it for? He ran his hand through his hair and tugged on the short strands. “I had to do something. You’re...you’re—”
“Trying...to breathe?” She raised her eyebrows, crinkling her forehead.
His hands fisted with the need to shake some sense into her or cradle her close and never let her go, no matter what Liam McBride or anyone said. “Do you have another inhaler at your place?”
When she shook her head, his chest squeezed in sympathy. From the moment he’d recognized Meg, he may as well have been in the blast zone from an improvised explosive device. His ears rang, his breath caught in his throat, his heart raced. Where was his battle calm? In an attempt to keep his hands to himself, he paced the small kitchen.
“I...” She set the untouched water on the table, her gaze shifting to a small purse on the counter.
How had he missed that? He grabbed the purse. “Do you have another inhaler in here?”
She shook her head. “Phone.”
“Phone?” he echoed.
“To call the pharmacy...” She stood but swayed and grabbed the back of the chair before reaching for the purse he had in his hand. “For a refill.”
“Meg, please. Sit down.” He stepped toward her, but she waved him off. “That could take too long.”
“I’ll be okay in a minute.” She pressed a hand to her chest.
“We shouldn’t take that chance.” He pulled his keys out of his pocket. “I’m taking you to the ER.”
“No, really... I...” Her voice trailed off as she began gasping for air, struggling to keep upright.
“I’m done asking. Now I’m ordering.” Riley put his hand under her elbow and gave her no choice. “My truck. Now.”
She pulled out of his grasp. “I can...walk.”
Whoa. Obviously while gaining those womanly curves, she’d lost that youthful attraction for him, but that was okay. For once something other than combat was getting his blood pumping.
* * *
Reality, meet Meg. Meg, meet reality.
This was not how her first meeting in over five years with Riley Cooper was supposed to happen. In her imagination, she was all sexy in a little black dress and killer heels after a relaxing spa day. Yeah, right; she’d spent the day cleaning and probably looked like Nick Nolte’s mug shot. So not fair! Riley was supposed to be breathless and falling at her feet, not vice versa. Stupid, stupid asthma. Another twenty minutes and she would’ve been home, not making embarrassing wheezing and whistling noises in front of him.
In the cellar, Meg had thought Riley was a hallucination brought on by her oxygen-starved brain, but it hadn’t taken long for her to see he was swoon-worthy flesh and blood. Riley had this whole bad-boy persona going on, with close-cropped military hair, Hollywood stubble and chiseled cheeks. What was he doing in Loon Lake? Last she knew, he was in Afghanistan. Her stomach clenched. Why had he returned?
Meg plodded toward the front door. Was it lack of oxygen or his presence making her dizzy? A million questions flitted around in her head like horseflies in spring. Forget curiosity. Giving him the third degree was out of the question until she could speak in full sentences. Another round of coughing left her light-headed. Damn, fresh air wasn’t helping. She rubbed her chest, hoping to ease the new tightness settling there and chase away the black spots dancing around the edges of her vision. Every time she tried to draw in a deeper breath, the cough started again and the cycle repeated. She’d wanted to argue some more, but she could expend effort on one thing and she chose breathing.
Riley brushed past her and opened the front door.
“Wait and I’ll help you into the truck.” He turned back to lock the door.
A shiny black Ford F-150 hulked in the driveway. Great, how am I supposed to climb into that beast? “I’ll manage.”
He grunted and swept past, getting to the truck ahead of her. He opened the passenger door, swearing under his breath as he lifted a brown paper grocery bag off the seat. Glass bottles clinked as he turned, and she glanced into the bag. Bottles of Jack Daniel’s stared back. She choked on the bitter bile rising in her throat. Oh, God, Riley, no. Please. I don’t want Fiona to come home to...this.
Meg met his gaze. Riley’s eyes resembled the lake during a summer storm. Those gray eyes—Fiona’s gray eyes—dared her to say something. “Are you okay to drive?”
He lifted the bag higher, the bottles clinking and the paper bag crackling. “I haven’t touched a drop. Check the bottles if you don’t believe me.”
“I believe you.” She stepped out of his way. “Expecting company?”
“Something like that.”
He set the bag on the porch steps and hustled back to the truck.
The dots dancing around the edges of her vision had increased in both size and speed, but she tried to pull herself into the pickup. Riley seized her around the waist and easily lifted her into the seat. “Thanks.”
After securing her seat belt, she sat hunched forward and closed her eyes.
When he climbed behind the wheel, she pried her eyes open and eased back against the seat. “You remember...hospital?”
“Of course.”
Meg tried to ignore his hand draped over the steering wheel. Not a good time for taking trips down memory lane...but those hands...
She made a strangled choking sound and turned away.
He slammed the brakes on. “Should I call an ambulance?”
“No.” She motioned with her hand. “Go.”
He peered at her for a moment longer before easing his foot off the brake. “Quit scaring me like that.”
“Sorry.” But it was his fault for looking so damn sexy. So not fair that his worn camo pants looked hot and her worn jeans looked...well, old and tattered. She wasn’t wearing any makeup and Liam’s old sweatshirt swallowed her whole. Yep, Meg McBride was a real sexpot. What was she doing? She needed to remember her first priority was Fiona. Riley’s parting words rang in her ears. I’m not coming back again, Meggie. The marines are my life now. But she’d been naive enough to think she could change his mind with sex. Yeah, that worked out well. But she was in a good place in her life now and wouldn’t confuse lust with love. Not that there was anything wrong with no-strings-attached sex. She might even try it...someday.
“...and I was surprised.”
Oh, God. He’d been talking and she hadn’t heard a word. “Sorry?”
He passed a slow-moving car. “I didn’t think your family used the cottage anymore.”
Was he here because he thought she wouldn’t be?
“I—”
“Sorry.” He glanced at her. “I didn’t mean to make you keep talking. Save your breath. We can catch up later.”
Fiona had two more weeks of vacation with Grampa Mac and Doris. Most lake rentals lasted a week. Riley would be gone before Fiona came home. Meg curled her fingers into her palms. She should be thinking of ways to tell Riley the truth, not celebrating the timing of his visit. If he’d come three weeks ago or two weeks from now, there would be no escaping the truth; it would be literally staring him in the face. But now? With a bag of whiskey bottles waiting on his porch? She could last a couple of weeks. Riley had shattered her heart... What would he do to Fiona’s tender one?
“Meg? You still with me?”
She opened her mouth but began coughing.
“I noticed the musty smell. Did mold bring on your attack?” He turned onto the road leading to the hospital.
She reached out to rest her hand on the dashboard. “Yeah...spring rain and snowmelt caused some spring flooding.”
“What about your place?” He gave her a quick glance. “Do you have mold, too?”
She nodded and he continued, “I’ll take a look later and see if I can’t get it cleaned up.”
“No!” He gave her a wounded look and she softened her tone. “Don’t waste...your week.”
He slowed the truck as they approached the hospital. “No problem. I’ll be here for the next thirty days.”
What? Thirty days? Meg shook her head. Riley might not know—yet—what she’d done, but karma had obviously memorized it line, verse and chapter and was gleefully punishing her. First, Riley showed up looking like sex on a stick while she looked like something he’d step in with his size thirteen boots. And he was staying an entire month. Last night, after she’d talked to Fiona on the phone, Meg had cried because another fourteen days without her baby seemed like an eternity. Now, a week wasn’t enough time to get ready for the impending storm.
* * *
Riley took the first empty parking spot. Her color had been pale before but it had suddenly gotten much worse. He threw the truck into Park while the wheels were still rolling and winced when the transmission groaned.
Leaping down, he sprinted to the passenger door and pulled Meg to his side. Keeping one hand under her elbow, he hustled her through a pair of glass doors that whooshed open to a small waiting area with a nurse seated at a desk.
She greeted them with a smile, but her sharp, assessing gaze stayed on Meg. “What brings you here today?”
“Asthma. I—” A fit of coughing cut Meg off.
Riley slipped an arm across Meg’s hunched shoulders, easing her closer. “She’s having an asthma attack and her inhaler was empty. Ma’am, she needs to see someone. Right away.”
After they’d taken seats in front of her desk, the woman tapped her finger on a small black pad that looked like a calculator. “Can you type your Social Security number into this for me?”
After Meg typed in her number, the nurse slipped a blood pulse oximeter on her finger.
“When did the wheezing start?” the nurse asked and verified Meg’s date of birth and social.
“About...thirty minutes ago.” Meg leaned forward in the seat.
“And what were you doing?”
“Laundry.”
Riley drew his chair closer and secured an arm around Meg as if she’d slip away from him if he let go. He listened impatiently to every inane question and Meg’s breathless replies, the incessant tapping on the keypad. Geez, couldn’t they just give her an inhaler or something? What was taking so long?
The nurse checked the oximeter and clucked her tongue. “Ninety-one. We’ll get you back there right away.”
While the nurse put a hospital bracelet around Meg’s wrist, Riley glanced over at the crowded waiting room. Texting and watching TV, none of them looked as though they wanted to shout and tear the place apart until their loved one was treated. Not that Meg was...
He closed his eyes and rubbed his forefinger across the bridge of his nose, searching for calm. He’d been fighting nausea since finding her at the bottom of those stairs. Sheer force of will had kept him moving up to this moment. Sweat trickled down his sides. Meg had asked him if he’d been expecting company when he’d picked up his bag of Jack Daniel’s bottles. What he hadn’t told her was that most nights the image of Private Trejo lying in a pool of blood and spilled guts at the bottom of those dusty steps in Kandahar kept him company.
A hand touched his arm, and his eyes flew open.
“She’s going to be fine.” The nurse flashed a reassuring smile. “Someone is coming right out to get her.”
The door to the ER buzzed open and another nurse in dark blue scrubs stepped through, pushing a wheelchair in front of her. She called for Meg. Riley swallowed and helped Meg stand.
“Meg, I figured that must be you when I saw the name on the face sheet from triage.” The trim, fortysomething nurse glanced at him, did a double take and smiled. “I would say it’s good to see you, but considering we’re in the ER, I won’t.”
“Hi, Jan. I’d...” Meg coughed and settled in the chair, and Riley started to follow them into a small treatment area. “I’d say the same, but yeah, ER and all.”
Jan stopped and gave him a sharp look. “Are you a relative?”
“No.” But if you think you’re keeping me out here and away from Meggie, think again, lady.
“He’s...” Meg’s gaze bounced between him and Jan. “I’d like him with me.”
The nurse nodded and started forward again. He sighed, glad he didn’t have to fight and claw his way back there to be sure they did their best for Meg.
“We’ll get you fixed up right quick,” Jan said cheerfully as she wheeled Meg down a short hall with curtained treatment areas. “I ran into Brody the other day at the Pic-N-Save. He said Fiona is enjoying her trip. Bet you miss her like crazy. It was the Grand Canyon, wasn’t it?”
Meg bit her lower lip. “Yes. Grand Canyon.”
“They went by motor home, didn’t they?”
“Yes.” Meg’s fingers gripped the sides of the chair, her knuckles white.
Riley looked to Meg, but she ignored him. Who was Fiona and why would Meg be missing her like crazy? And who was Brody?
She’s made a life for herself complete with new friends in the past five years, dumbass.
The nurse stopped in front of a curtained treatment area, engaged the brake on the wheelchair and helped Meg transfer to a narrow stretcher. She closed the curtain and pulled a hospital gown from an overhead cabinet. “Sir, if you’ll wait on the other side of the curtain for a moment.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He was loath to leave Meg, but took a step back. Getting escorted out by security wouldn’t be a good idea.
“Thanks.” The nurse smiled at him as she yanked the curtain closed in his face. “Now, Meg, take off your shirt and unhook your bra.”
The curtain hadn’t closed all the way and he could still see Meg. He should be a gentleman about this. But he needed to reassure himself they were taking proper care of Meg. Yeah, right.
Jan, the nurse, clucked her tongue, saying, “Oh, my.” Riley stiffened as she continued, “Looks like you’ve got some mold on the back of this sweatshirt.”
“I must’ve brushed up against it in the basement,” Meg responded.
“I’ll bag the shirt up just as a precaution and look for a scrub top for you to wear home,” Jan said and there was some rustling.
“There, all covered,” Jan said, as if signaling the all clear, and Riley stepped back around the curtain.
A tech came in right behind him and took Meg’s vital signs while the nurse did an evaluation. He clenched his jaw. How many questions did they have to ask before they treated her?
The curtain flew aside and the doctor stepped in, stethoscope looped around his neck and holding a clipboard. He introduced himself and pulled a small black stool up to the stretcher and sat down.
“So you’ve had an asthma attack. Was this one any worse than the others?”
“No, but I had used up my inhaler and someone got a little freaked out.”
Riley opened his mouth but thought better of arguing and shut it again.
“I see. Let’s have a listen.” The doctor stuck his stethoscope under the gown and listened to Meg’s chest, right upper, left upper, right lower, then left lower, then repeating the process on her back all the while explaining, “We’re going to get your asthma exacerbation under control by giving you several updrafts back to back and, if necessary, an IV steroid.”
When he finished, he went to the computer to document his findings and the nurse tied the gown. “It says you have inhalers. Did you say you used one today?”
Unable to keep silent any longer, Riley stepped away from the wall he’d been leaning against. “The one she had was empty. I found her at—”
“And you are?” The doctor turned and studied Riley over the top of his glasses.
Riley flexed his fingers. Good question. What was he to Meg? Blowing out the breath he’d been holding in, he said, “Riley Cooper, sir.”
The doctor glanced at the chart. “Are you a relative?”
Riley stepped closer to Meg. “I’m—”
“He’s just, uh...just a neighbor.”
Well, that answered who and what he was. His gut burned at being relegated to such a mundane role in Meg’s life.
