The Daddy Salute

Mariah Sutton. Sure, he remembered her. A couple of years ago. In South Carolina. Pretty, warm, fun. Mariah and he had had a mutually satisfying relationship that had lasted a total of six weeks.

But according to the social worker he’d spoken to nearly two hours ago, the memory of their affair was still alive and well and living in the person of one Maegan Sutton-Haley, thirteen months old.

Brian shook his head as his back teeth ground together. He dodged an elderly woman pushing a black suitcase in front of her like a battering ram, then joined the line of people waiting to pass through the security gate.

Mariah’d given the lady his name, but hadn’t bothered to tell him about his daughter. What the hell was that about? Why hadn’t she told him? He rubbed one hand along the back of his neck and moved forward another inch or two. What would he have done if she had told him? he wondered. Honestly, he didn’t know. He’d like to think he’d have done the right thing, whatever that was these days. But how could he be sure? He couldn’t. Now he’d never know what might have been.

But was that really important at the moment? No. What mattered now was the simple fact that Mariah Sutton had died in a car accident, naming him father and guardian of their little girl.

Damn it, he’d never wanted kids.

Even as that thought entered his mind, another chased right behind it. If you didn’t want kids, you shouldn’t have been so careless, huh?

“Afternoon, Sergeant,” the man at the security portal said as Brian moved up to take his turn.

He nodded and stepped through.

Naturally the damn thing beeped.

Brian glanced down at his uniform, guessing rightly that the medals on his left shirtfront pocket had set off the alarms. He looked at the security officer. “Want me to take them off?”

The old man smiled and shook his head. “Just step over here a moment.”

Brian left the line and held still while the officer ran a hand-held security wand up and down his body. When it came across the medals, it beeped just like its mother ship had. He shrugged apologetically. “Sorry.”

“No problem, marine,” the man said, then waved him on. “We’re used to dealing with the military. You have a good day.”

Not much chance of that, Brian thought. “Thanks,” he muttered, and hurried on to meet his fate.

Milling around at the back of the crowd, waiting for the plane to unload, Brian studied the happy, excited faces surrounding him. Apparently he was the only person there who wished he was anywhere else. His heart pounded frantically. Stomach churning, he tried reminding himself that he was a marine for Pete’s sake, but it wasn’t helping.

Good Lord. A daughter.

What was he supposed to do with a little girl? A baby?

Briefly he told himself he should have paid closer attention when his older sisters had started producing grandchildren for his doting mother. But anytime one of those kids had shown up, Brian had beaten a hasty retreat.

This must be some kind of karmic joke.

One of the airline personnel opened the door for the soon-to-be-appearing passengers, and Brian felt his throat close up. Impossible to be covered in a cold sweat and feel completely dried out, but there you go. Actually, he thought, trying to be objective about this, he felt just the way he had the first time someone had shot at him.

The first few people straggled up the gangway, juggling bags way too big to be considered carry-ons by anyone. A few happy squeals sounded from the crowd, and as people slowly met their friends and families and drifted off, Brian stood alone. Waiting.

Then she was there.

A woman came toward him, older, a bit gray, with kind eyes and a tired droop to her posture. Over one shoulder she carried a Winnie the Pooh bag and on her right hip was perched a baby girl.

His baby girl.

Maegan Haley.

God help them both.

“Gunnery Sergeant Haley?” the woman asked as she stopped in front of him and swung the bag to the floor.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, unconsciously shifting stance to attention. His gaze flickered to the baby, who stared at him through eyes so much like his own he felt an invisible fist crash into his belly. Well, whatever else had happened, Mariah hadn’t lied.

His daughter.

The woman saw his reaction and gave him a soft smile. “I’m Mrs. Norbert, and this…is Maegan.”

“Uh, huh.”

“If you wouldn’t mind showing me some identification?”

She looked as though she was having second thoughts about handing over the baby. He didn’t blame her. Still he showed her all the ID he had and she appeared to be satisfied.

“So,” she said, “everything seems to be in order.”

Real good, Haley, he told himself. Impress the woman with your articulate style.

But she didn’t seem to mind that he’d been struck dumb.

“In the bag there are a few diapers, a bottle of apple juice and some teething biscuits.”

“Teething biscuits?” Oh, man, he was in deep trouble here.

“Something like a hard cookie.”

“Uh-huh.” He nodded, and in an effort to sound at least halfway knowledgeable said, “It looks like she’s got all her teeth.” He knew this because the baby was baring said teeth at him.

“Oh, most of them, yes,” the woman said. “but those back teeth are tough little beggars.”

Swell.

“Anyway,” Mrs. Norbert went on, “you’ll have to do some shopping right away, but at least you don’t have to worry about formula.”

“Formula?”

“Yes.” She looked up at him and shook her head slightly. “Maegan drinks regular milk now, and she can eat people food.”

Well that worked out well, but then he hadn’t planned on feeding her cat chow.

“Although, you might want to go easy on regular food and stockpile some jarred toddler foods.”

“Uh-huh.” Numb. Completely numb. And the baby didn’t look too happy about the situation, either.

“So! If you’ll just sign these…” The woman dipped a hand into her large black purse and pulled out a sheaf of legal papers.

Brian took them and stared down at the words, watching as they blurred and fuzzed. He was about to sign his life away, and for some reason his eyes were refusing to focus.

“A pen. Do you have a pen?” she asked.

“No.” A bayonet maybe. A gun. But no pen. “No, I don’t.”

“Never mind, I do,” Mrs. Norbert told him, digging into the bowels of that purse again. “Here, you just take the baby and I’ll find it.”

With that, she plopped Maegan into her daddy’s arms, and man and child stared at each other warily. Brian studied her, noting the heart-shaped face, the string of drool hanging from her pouting mouth and the butterfly hair clip attached to impossibly fine, light-brown hair. She wore a frilly blue dress, shiny black shoes and white tights straining over a well-padded behind.

Brian held her exactly as he would a live grenade—with extreme caution, at arm’s length.

Maegan looked him over, and he was pretty sure she didn’t approve of him. Of course, how could he blame her? Some strange woman had just loaded her onto a plane, flown across the country and dropped her into the arms of another stranger. What did she have to be happy about?

As if to prove him right, Maegan started kicking her little feet wildly, then screwed her face up into a mask of displeasure just before howling like some crazed hound on the scent of fresh meat.

“Geez!” he choked out. “Hey, hey stop that,” he told her, and jiggled her slightly.

The only effect that move had was to make the sound of her cries go up and down like a talentless kid playing scales on the piano.

“Oh, pay no attention,” Mrs. Norbert said as she came up with the long-sought-for pen. “She’s just tired and cranky.”

“I know how she feels,” he muttered. In fact, he was getting crankier by the minute.

“Excellent,” she said, taking the baby from him so he could sign the papers that would make him solely responsible for one tiny, loud scrap of humanity. “I’m sure you’ll get along wonderfully well. It will just take some time.”

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