The Seal's Surrender

“Well,” she said, “yes.”

“Sometimes that’s better.” He kept his grip on her forearm as if he expected her to scurry for the door. Which she would have done, given half a chance. Then he smiled and her stomach flipped over. “Telling your troubles to a stranger is like talking to yourself. Only you don’t have to answer your own questions and run the risk of being locked in a padded room.”

A return smile tickled the corners of her mouth and she had to fight to keep it from blossoming. Which was a good thing actually, since she hadn’t had a thing to smile about since talking to her daughter’s doctors yesterday. And that stray thought was enough to wipe the beginnings of humor from her face.

A cold, empty well opened up inside her and she felt her heart slide into it.

“Hey,” he said, letting his hand slide from her forearm up to her shoulder, where his fingers squeezed gently. “Come on. Talk to me. Maybe I can help.” He dipped his head a bit and gave her another half smile. “I’m a SEAL. Trained to be a hero. So let me ride to the rescue here, okay?”

Jennifer glanced over her shoulder at the party just beyond the glass doors, then turned back to look at him again. What the heck, she thought. She could use a shoulder at the moment. And his were certainly broad enough to hold up under her assault.

“It’s my daughter,” she blurted before she could change her mind.

His gaze darkened slightly. “You have a daughter?”

“Yes.” Just the thought of Sarah brought up her image in Jennifer’s mind and she smiled to herself. Big brown eyes in a round little face that was usually smudged with dirt. Pigtails that were really no more than tiny wisps of light-brown hair caught up in barrettes at either side of her head. Small, pudgy hands and short, sturdy legs. Butterfly kisses and sticky-fingered hugs. Tickle bugs and belly laughs.

Doctors in white coats, long, dangerous-looking needles and Sarah’s tears.

“Oh, God,” Jennifer half moaned and clapped her hand to her mouth again, not sure if she was going to be sick or start screaming.

It was all just so damned unfair.

“Come here,” Chance said, turning her as he spoke, shifting to hold her, wrap his arms around her.

And because she needed a hug so badly, she went.

Nestled against that wide chest, she hung on for a long moment, wrapping her arms around his waist and drawing on the strength he so casually offered. She felt him awkwardly patting her back and for some silly reason, it helped. Though she knew it didn’t actually change anything, the physical act of being comforted soothed the frayed edges of her soul, and just for an instant, the world didn’t seem as terrifying as it had only minutes ago.

“Tell me,” he said, his voice a gruff whisper coming from somewhere above her head. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Sarah,” she said, saying the words aloud for the first time since the doctor had so clinically outlined the trouble the day before, “my baby. She needs an operation. On her heart. There’s a small hole in it.”

“Aah…” A comforting sound, more of a deep breath released, maybe, but it too helped. She felt his sympathy in the gentle tightening of his grip on her. “How old is she?”

“Eighteen months,” she whispered, looking past him to the lake, but really looking at her mind’s eye picture of Sarah. “She’s so small. So tiny. This shouldn’t be happening.”

“No, it shouldn’t,” he said softly. “It sucks.”

Jennifer nodded. “Yes,” she said, grateful to hear someone else say what she’d been thinking, “it does.”

Two

Chance wasn’t a family kind of man by any means. But he felt Jennifer’s fear as if it were his own. It rattled through her small body with the force of a freight train and shook him to his bones.

His every instinct told him to rush in and defend. Protect. But none of his training would do a damn sight of good here. And that realization was a bitter pill to choke down.

Hell, he couldn’t even think of something helpful to say. It sucks? Real eloquent, Chance.

He continued to hold her though, hoping his silent support helped in some way. Strange, a few days ago, he hadn’t known or cared that any of these people existed. Now he was standing on the balcony of a mansion, for Pete’s sake, holding a weeping woman.

“What am I doing?” Jennifer muttered as she pulled back out of his arms and took another step away from him just for good measure. “I’m going to rain mascara all over your white uniform.”

No she wouldn’t, he thought, looking into those forest-green eyes of hers. They were big and wet and sad, but there was no smudge of dark makeup around them. Just the remnants of tears she was fighting to control. Damned if he didn’t admire her for that, too.

She could be wallowing in the fear that was close to strangling her, but she wasn’t. Instead, she was holding herself together through the force of her will. Hell, she didn’t even want sympathy. So what exactly was it he could do for her?

“Do you want to go back inside?” he asked.

“God no,” she said, shaking her head and moving back to the railing. Keeping her face averted from both him and the sliding glass doors behind them, she said, “I don’t want them to know I’ve been crying. I just couldn’t take the questions right now.”

Privacy. Something else he could understand. Well, if he couldn’t escort her through the maze of party-goers, he could at least make her eventual trip inside a little easier. “Okay. Just wait here, then. I’ll be back.”

Before she could say anything, he opened the sliding glass doors and stepped back into the party. Noise assaulted him and he instantly missed the relative peace and quiet of the balcony.

Focused, Chance paid no attention to the people around him. He moved through the crowd as if he were on a mission. He kept his goal in mind and went about accomplishing it as quickly as he could. Which wasn’t as easy as he’d expected. There were just too many people.

He cast one quick, nearly wistful glance at the front door, then forgot about leaving and went on with his quest.

When he walked into the kitchen, the folks in there looked as surprised as they would have if lightning had struck the butcher-block work island in the center of the massive room.

“Can I help you, Mr. Chance?”

Grateful, he looked to the woman on his right. Mentally, he scrambled for her name and came up with it an instant later.

“Ruby, right?” he asked.

“That’s me,” the housekeeper said, giving him a nod sharp enough to shake loose a graying red curl from her topknot to lie askew in the middle of her forehead.

In the few days he’d been in town, Chance had seen this woman running the Connelly household—and family, for that matter—with an iron fist. Grant and Emma might think they were in charge, but the truth was, Ruby was the brass around here.

The short, slightly rounded woman with kind blue eyes had the ability to get things done, and Chance appreciated that. Even while keeping under radar, staying unnoticed himself. He’d seen how his half brothers and sisters scampered when Ruby gave an order. Hell, even his father, Grant, didn’t argue when she laid down the law.

Clearly, she’d been in charge so long, she never even considered the possibility that people wouldn’t obey her without question. In the military, she might have made it to the Joint Chiefs of Staff. Here, she ran the Connelly household like a well-oiled machine and wouldn’t accept anything less.

“Now, how can I help you?” she asked, snatching his attention as she would have the hand of a child inclined to wander off.

Chance glanced around at the others clustered within hearing distance, reluctant to speak up with so many eager ears nearby. The housekeeper noticed and clapped her hands sharply. “What are you bunch staring at? Get about your business. Don’t you have drinks and canapés you could be serving?”

They scattered like windblown leaves, and, in seconds, he was alone in the room with Ruby. “I’m impressed,” he said.

“For running them off? Don’t be. I am sorry about them, though,” the woman said, with a shake of her head. “They’re day help for the party and their mamas apparently forgot to teach them any manners.”

He smiled. “I have a feeling you’ll take care of that.”

She straightened up and puffed out her chest. “I’ll do my best in the short time I have them,” she assured him. “So what is it you need, Mr. Chance?”

He winced a little at the implied title. Now, people calling him “Commander,” he’d earned. He could even live with “Hey, sailor,” but “Mr. Chance”? No way. That was just way too highfalutin. “Just, Chance, all right?”