The Seal's Secret Daughter

However, there was nothing jovial or flirty about the man right this second. In fact, the deep grooves along his brow and the hardened line of his jaw made him look like a completely different person—like he’d been hiding his true personality all along.

With only two other occupied booths in the restaurant this early in the morning, there were half a dozen sets of eyes trained on the new arrivals. The curious stares coupled with the silence spoke volumes and reassured Monica that she wasn’t the only one who’d noticed that something was out of the ordinary.

A prickling sensation made its way down the back of her neck and she cleared her throat. “Table for two?”

“Uh...yeah,” he finally said, and glanced behind him at the girl. Ethan normally walked into the restaurant with a grin and a sense of purpose, saying hello to all the locals before grabbing his favorite seat at the end of the counter. Today, though, he didn’t make a move toward his usual spot despite the fact it was empty. He didn’t really move at all.

“How about that table over there.” Monica used her chin to nod toward an empty corner booth that was on the opposite side of where the other diners were now blatantly staring at them.

“Great,” Ethan replied, and began walking in that direction. He took a few steps, then paused and turned to the child. “Is this okay?”

The girl’s only response was to follow behind him, her head not lifting. Something about the child tugged at Monica’s heart and reminded her of how shy and awkward she’d once been at that same age.

Monica took the tray of shakers to the prep station and switched out the pot of decaf for regular coffee, since Ethan normally drank at least three cups.

When she returned to their table, she passed them both laminated menus. Not that Ethan ever needed one, but something was definitely off about him this morning and she no longer knew what to expect. Using the same smile she used during the tiny tots reading circle at the library, she faced the girl and said, “Hi. I’m Monica.”

The child lifted her face and Monica gasped at the resemblance to Ethan. Their mouths were the same shape and their chins shared matching dimples. If the girl’s stringy hair was washed and brushed, it would likely be the exact inky-black shade as Ethan’s, as well. Yet, it was the bottomless sapphire-blue eyes that were the dead giveaway.

They were definitely related.

That didn’t make sense, though. Monica could’ve sworn that she’d once overheard him bragging about being single and carefree. Plus, she was positive that he’d told Freckles, the owner of the café, that his mom died when he was a boy and his father had passed away a few years ago and he didn’t have any other family.

So then where had this child come from?

If Freckles hadn’t taken the morning off, the nosy older woman would’ve been asking all kinds of questions, like whether this was the girl’s first time in Sugar Falls and how long was she visiting. Unfortunately, Monica wasn’t quite as smooth when it came to starting conversations with the customers. Sure, she liked listening to people talk and picking up information here and there, but she didn’t have that ability of asking the right kinds of questions to illicit much more than a two-or three-word response. Unless it was about their favorite books.

But a million questions were floating through her head as she stared at the child, who was having trouble keeping her hands pushed through the sleeves of the man-size sweatshirt she’d obviously borrowed from Ethan.

There was still snow outside this time of year. Where was the girl’s jacket?

Monica turned over Ethan’s mug and poured him a steaming cup of coffee, but he avoided eye contact so she couldn’t read any clues on his normally friendly face. Turning to the girl, she said, “It’s pretty cold this morning. How about some hot chocolate?”

The girl’s eyes grew wide, and for an instant, an almost...craving expression flashed across her face, as though she’d never wanted anything more. Yet, her only reply was to study Ethan with a guarded look.

“Do you like hot chocolate?” Ethan asked her, and the girl nodded slowly. “Then hot chocolate it is.” He turned to Monica. “This is Trina. We’re still...uh...getting to know each other.”

A chill spread through Monica, making her skin prickle with unease. Stumbling backward, she retreated to the prep station behind the counter. She fumbled with the bottle of chocolate sauce several times as she thought about Ethan’s odd response. How did he not know the girl before now? They were clearly related.

Monica caught a movement out of the corner of her eye and turned just in time to see Trina dart into the hallway leading toward the restrooms. A hissing sound, followed by a blast of steam, drew her attention back to the complex frothing machine her boss had installed a few weeks ago and she barely got the thing shut off in time to prevent the hot milk from splattering everywhere. Monica cupped the warm mug in her trembling hands as she quickly walked to the table where Ethan was now sitting alone.

She needed to hurry if she wanted to talk to him before Trina returned from the restroom. Out of all the questions she wanted answered, the first one that came tumbling out of her mouth was, “Is she yours?”

Monica winced at her own words, her whisper-soft tone not making the personal question sound any less rude.

But Ethan either hadn’t been bothered or he was too absorbed in his own thoughts to notice the impolite tone. He shrugged his shoulders, the expression on his face almost trancelike. “That’s what her mother said when she left her on my front porch this morning.”

“What do you mean, her mother left her on your front porch?” Monica had to brace her hand on the cowhide printed backrest of the booth. She was no longer whispering, drawing the curious stares from the other side of the restaurant.

“She knocked on my door this morning. I didn’t even recognize her.”

“Trina?” Disgust rose in Monica’s throat. How had the man not recognized his own daughter?

“No. Her mom. I guess we dated in high school and...” Ethan gave another shrug and it was all she could do not to grab two fistfuls of his plaid work shirt and shake the rounded muscles of his shoulders.

“You guess?” Monica swallowed a lump of annoyance. She wasn’t only ticked off with his answer, she was angry with herself. Disappointed at how easily she’d been blinded by her building attraction to a man who didn’t seem to know anything about his own daughter—including her existence. “So where is her mother now?”

“Her mother?” His brows formed a V and Monica rolled her eyes in frustration. She could handle Ethan easily enough when he was being a charming flirt, or even when he professed to be interested in her tongue-in-cheek book recommendations. However, if he was hoping this whole confused pretense would draw her sympathy, he was sorely mistaken.

“Yes. The person you dated back in high school? The mother of your child?”

“Right. Chantal drove off. She said she wasn’t any good at being a mom and threw Trina’s bag of clothes at me, telling me it was my turn to step up.”

There was nothing more reprehensible than a man who didn’t take care of his responsibilities. No amount of sex appeal or charm could make up for a lack of character. Her own father had been the same way and Monica shuddered at how close she’d come to falling under Ethan’s spell.

At how close she’d come to repeating her own mother’s same mistakes.

Chapter Two

Monica’s growing revulsion was soon replaced with pity as Trina returned from the bathroom, her chin low and her face averted from the curious stares from the other customers as she carried a balled-up blue sweatshirt under one arm. Monica took in his daughter’s lanky unwashed hair and the oversize T-shirt advertising Mesquite Muffler Mart and Automotive Repair. Not exactly a fashion staple in most preteen girls’ closets.

The child’s voice was low and gravelly when she whispered, “Why do they all keep looking over here?”

Monica glanced toward her Wednesday morning regulars. Scooter and Jonesy, the two older cowboys, were mostly harmless although a little gossipy at times. She couldn’t say the same for the other three ladies, who apparently weren’t in any hurry to leave, despite the fact they’d already paid their checks and had their own local businesses to open.

Monica had grown up in Sugar Falls and, as much as she withered under the curious stares and wagging tongues, at least she was used to the presence of the small-town busybodies. It had to be twenty times worse for a child who was also an outsider.

“You know what?” Monica stood up straighter. “The cook is out on a smoke break. Why don’t you guys come on back to the kitchen and I’ll fix your breakfast myself? It’s much more private back there.”

She was still holding the mug of hot chocolate and tried to give Trina a reassuring smile before leading the way toward the swinging door. It took a few seconds before the girl followed, and Monica pulled out the single wooden stool near a stainless steel counter for Trina, not bothering with a thought for where Ethan would sit.

He could either plop himself on the ground or go on and slither out the front door for all she cared. Instead, she had to hold back every insulting word on the tip of her tongue when Ethan finally wormed his way back into the kitchen. After all, it wouldn’t be fair to say anything that might upset Trina, the poor little girl who’d just been abandoned by her own mother.

Monica added a heavy dollop of whipped cream to the mug of cocoa and handed it to the waif of a child. “Careful, it’s hot.”

Ethan must’ve left his own coffee back at the table and Monica couldn’t help but shoot daggers at the man who stood by the door, his hands buried in his jean pockets and his eyes darting around nervously, as though he was also plotting his own escape. As though leaving a child behind was no different than abandoning his cup of coffee.

A knot of concern wedged between her rib cage. Monica had also grown up without a father, but at least she’d had Gran. Trina, on the other hand, didn’t seem to have anyone. Maybe someone should call child protective services or even the police department and file some sort of report. She made a mental note to do some research on it. Once she got Trina fed.

“Would you like blueberries in your pancakes?” Monica asked.

Trina shot a questioning glance to her father. Or at least the man who’d sired her. “Does that cost extra?”

“I...uh...” Ethan’s normally cocky voice stuttered and Monica would’ve laughed at how many notches his ego must’ve been taken down if the circumstances hadn’t come at Trina’s expense. He moved closer and leaned a hip against the basin of the prep sink. “You can get whatever you want. Don’t worry about the cost.”

The girl let out a breath and put an elbow onto the counter, resting her chin on her palm as she studied the man. Monica poured some batter onto the griddle and threw in a scoop of blueberries, constantly glancing back over her shoulder to watch the silent staring contest between father and daughter.

“Only rich people say things like ‘don’t worry about the cost,’” Trina said, and Monica choked back a giggle. She was glad to see that the child was finally finding her voice and speaking up. “Are you one of those guys who lives in a crappy apartment, but you’re really a secret billionaire?”

“I’m not rich. And my apartment isn’t that crappy. I mean it’s not really decorated or anything because I’ve only lived there a few months. And I wasn’t exactly expecting company.”

“Ethan,” Monica warned, unsure of the direction that this conversation was taking and not wanting the man to do any further damage than he’d already done by being an absent father for the past however many years. “How old are you, Trina?”

“Eleven.”

“Wow.” Ethan exhaled a long, slow hiss of air. “I didn’t... I don’t... I... Wow. I’ve never been in this situation before.”

“It’s fine if you don’t want me,” Trina said when Ethan apparently couldn’t finish whatever it was he’d been trying to say. Whatever cheap apologies he might’ve offered for missing the first eleven years of her life. “I have a caseworker back in Galveston. If you call her, she’ll get me a bus ticket or an emergency foster home or something.”

“Have you been in foster care before?” Ethan asked, inching closer, and Monica held her breath, praying the young girl had somehow had a happy and fulfilling life up until now.

“Every year or so, my mother decides that she can’t deal with me or with life and takes off somewhere. I used to live with my grandmother, but Gran died a few months ago.”

“Oh,” was all Ethan could say, and Monica clenched the spatula tighter, her heart clenching at the girl’s casual indifference about her situation.

“I have a Gran, too,” Monica offered, sliding a very uneven pancake onto a plate. Cooking wasn’t exactly her forte, but neither was waitressing. “She also raised me after my father left.”

Trina smiled and mumbled a “Thanks.” But Monica wasn’t sure if it was for the attempt at making her breakfast or for the attempt at understanding her situation. Or both.

Ethan must’ve heard something he didn’t like, though, because he scrunched up his nose and attempted a subtle head shake at Monica. Perhaps he didn’t appreciate someone pointing out the obvious comparison to another deadbeat dad, but he couldn’t very well deny that he’d also left his daughter. Well, Monica supposed he could deny knowing about her in the first place, but he apparently knew better than to discuss all of his excuses right in front of the poor girl.

Monica set the dish in front of Trina and said, “Eat up and then we’ll figure out who we need to call.”

“Why would we need to call anyone?” Ethan asked. “And can I get one of those pancakes?”

“No, you may not.” Monica squared her shoulders and turned toward him. Stepping behind Trina, who was drowning her plate in syrup, Monica jerked her thumb at the area in the corner where Freckles kept the stacks of flour and the cans of shortening for her famous biscuits. Walking that way, she had to wave an arm at Ethan who was slow to get the hint.

It was a tighter spot than she’d anticipated, and when he wedged his muscular six-foot frame in next to her, she was hit with the lemony scent of his shampoo. His face was only inches from hers and she lowered her gaze to the soft flannel of his work shirt and the way it stretched across his broad chest.

To get her mind off his physical nearness, Monica curled her fingers into her palms, squeezing until her nails dug into her hands. Finally, she was able to lift her head and unclench her jaw long enough to whisper, “What do you mean ‘why would we need to call anyone?’”

“If she’s my daughter, then she’s not going back to some social worker in Galveston.”

If she’s his daughter? It didn’t take a paternity test to prove the two looked exactly alike, including those haunted blue eyes.

“Lower your voice,” she admonished, squinting past him to see if Trina had overheard. “She isn’t a lost puppy. You can’t just take a child home and keep her.”

“Why not?” he asked, and her frustration mounted, heating her face. Or maybe it was the way his bicep brushed against her shoulder when he shoved his hands into his jean pockets.

She didn’t have a legal argument, or at least she wouldn’t until her shift was over and she went to the library and did some research. So Monica attempted to argue using common sense. “Because she doesn’t know you, Ethan. She’s got to be terrified.”

“And sending her off with some stranger to a foster home wouldn’t be even scarier?”

“I can hear you, you know,” Trina called out, not bothering to turn around.

Monica pursed her lips and shot Ethan a pointed look of annoyance since she couldn’t very well say, Now look what you did.

“Sorry, Trina.” Ethan returned to where his daughter was seated.

Monica held her breath. She really should be back in the dining room, checking on her customers. But her heart was tearing apart at the way the girl just shrugged everything off, no longer making eye contact with the man who’d fathered her.

“I’m normally not so rude,” he offered, and Monica had to give him that. In fact, Ethan was usually quite a smooth talker. Too smooth, if you asked her. “But seeing you, finding out...well, I’ve just been caught off guard.”

Just then, Scooter Deets, one of the old-timers who ate at the café every morning, sauntered by the pass-through window and held up a hot pink coffee mug. Scooter had checked out a book on plumbing two years ago and his overdue fine was pushing triple digits. “Don’t mind me, y’all. I’m just grabbing myself a refill.”

Trying to fill up on gossip was more like it, Monica thought.

“I’ll be right there,” she said to the cowboy, who was normally hard of hearing unless there was something juicy going on. Monica turned to Trina. “Give me a couple of minutes and we’ll put our heads together and figure something out.”

“What’s there to figure out? She’s my daughter. She’s coming home with me.”

Monica pursed her lips and pointed to the corner of shelves so that Trina wouldn’t have to listen to them talking about her. Again. This time, when he followed her, Monica steeled herself for his closeness. “What do you even know about raising a child, much less a daughter?”

“Like I said, I’m a bit out of sorts, so you’ll have to forgive me for being rude,” Ethan started, indicating that something rude was about to come out of his normally smirking mouth. “But it really isn’t your business.”

The insult hit its mark and Monica’s aggravated groan sounded more like a defensive gasp. “You’re right, Ethan Renault. You’re not my business at all, thank God. However, someone needs to be looking out for what’s best for Trina and you obviously haven’t shown an interest in doing so in the past.”

“I didn’t even know she existed before this morning,” he hissed. “So how could I have shown anything in the past?”

“Psfhh.” Monica’s hands went to her hips. “The fact that you didn’t know in the first place is telling enough.”

“I was in high school the last time I saw her mom. I was just a dumb kid back then. How would you like someone to judge you for what you did when you were a teenager?”

The breath caught in Monica’s throat. When she’d been that age, she’d been working two jobs and studying around the clock to keep her grades high enough to win a college scholarship. She was more likely to be judged for being a boring stick-in-the-mud.

The squeaking hinge of the kitchen’s back door sounded and Monica looked up, expecting to see the cook returning from his break. Instead, she saw nobody. When she glanced over to where Trina was sitting, the only thing left was an empty plate.

“Oh hell,” Ethan said, running a hand through his short hair and sprinting toward the door.

The flash of panic had been evident on his face and Monica suddenly regretted every accusation she’d just thrown his way. She’d been reliving all of her old painful memories of her own father and projecting those past hurts onto an easy target.

She followed Ethan to the back door, but before she could exit, he came barreling back inside. “She’s not in the alley.”

“Where do you think she could’ve gone?” Monica gnawed on her lower lip.

“I have no idea. I really don’t know anything about her. When she showed up on my doorstep an hour ago, she looked cold and hungry. I didn’t have anything for her to eat so that’s why we came here. I was hoping to get some answers, but now she’s disappeared.”

A tinkling bell sounded over the front door and Monica wanted to stomp her foot in frustration. Now wasn’t the time for more customers to show up.

“Maybe she went back to your place?” Monica suggested. Every fiber in her body wanted to chase after the poor girl and keep her safe, but she couldn’t until the second waitress came on duty for her shift. “You go look for her there and I’ll stay here in case she comes back.”

“It took me eleven years to find her,” Ethan said, his eyes pleading with Monica’s as though she was the only one who could help him. “I don’t want to lose her again.”

* * *

“I have no clue where to even look for her,” Ethan said to his boss over the phone’s speaker as he slowly cruised his truck up and down Snowflake Boulevard, the center of the touristy Victorian downtown. Since he was expected at his contracting job at eight, it seemed only responsible to call his employer and confide in everything that had happened.

“Maybe you should call the police department,” Kane Chatterson offered.

“I’m pretty sure I heard Monica Alvarez say she was going to call when I tore out of the Cowgirl Up half an hour ago. Hold on, my call waiting is beeping.” Ethan looked at his screen and saw the number. His adrenaline, which had been pumping steadily until this point, suddenly nosedived. “It’s the police. I’ll call you back.”

Switching over to the other line, Ethan didn’t bother with pleasantries. “Carmen, did you find her?”

“Monica found her in the ladies’ room at the Cowgirl Up,” Officer Carmen Gregson replied, and Ethan’s exhale came out in a whoosh. “Apparently, she circled back and went in the front door, but Monica didn’t have your cell number. I’m heading over there now, but we might want to go somewhere a little less gossipy than the local diner so we can get this worked out.”

The fear clenching around his gut lessened, yet Ethan’s pulse remained elevated with apprehension. And confusion. Two hours ago, he didn’t even know he had a daughter, didn’t know his world could be so thrown off its axis before it got shaken up and thrown again.

Ethan eased his truck off the road and scrubbed at the lower half of his face, the face he hadn’t had time to shave this morning. More air released from his lungs before he asked, “What do we need to work out?”

“Just a heads-up, Renault...” The police officer, his best friend’s wife, was also former military and it put Ethan more at ease to have someone use his last name. “When Monica called it in, she said the girl mentioned something about a caseworker back in Texas. That means, by law, I’m required to notify them or the local child protective services.”

“Will they take her from me?” Ethan hadn’t exactly been doing cartwheels at the opportunity to be a father, but there was a ball of nausea welling up in his belly at the thought of his child—someone who shared his blood—being raised by a complete stranger.

“Why don’t you meet me at the café and we can walk the girl over to the station or someplace else where we can talk.”

“Right,” Ethan said, returning his foot to the accelerator and steering back onto the road. “I’m on my way.”

Thankfully, his first instinct wasn’t to stop by the bar or the liquor store before he got there—not that either would be open this early. Still, it was a relief that his steady hands now offered his mixed-up mind some focus. Ethan again toyed with the idea of calling his sponsor to tell him about this recent development, but he didn’t quite know what was going on, let alone know how to explain it. The best thing he could do was talk to Trina and the authorities and figure out his next step.

By the time he found a parking spot on the street between the Cowgirl Up Café and his apartment, Officer Gregson and Monica were already walking his way. His daughter appeared even more fragile between the two adult females, her head down and her face hidden behind a mess of stringy, limp hair.

He’d heard about dads who fell in love with their newborns right there in the delivery room. Something must be wrong with Ethan then, because he hadn’t experienced an instant bond with the girl when he’d first seen her outside his door this morning. In fact, she’d been a sullen, quiet little thing who would barely look at him—not that he could blame her. But now, desperation pricked at his skin as Trina approached and he needed some sort of sign that she was okay. Or at least, that she would be okay.