Little Secrets

She frowned a little and even the downturn of her mouth was sexy. Which told Jack he was walking into some serious trouble. But there was no way to avoid any of it.

While he stared at her, he could practically see the wheels turning in her brain. She didn’t like him telling her what to do, but she was so surprised to see him that she clearly wanted answers as badly as he did. She was smart, opinionated and had a temper, he recalled, that could blister paint. Just a few of the reasons that he’d once been crazy about her.

Coming to a decision, Rita called out, “Casey,” and a cute redhead behind the counter looked up. “I’m taking a break. Back in fifteen.”

“Right, boss,” the woman said and went right back to ringing up the latest customer.

“Might take more than fifteen,” he warned her even as she started past him toward the door.

“No, it won’t,” she said over her shoulder.

Whatever her original response to seeing him had been, she was cool and calm now, having no doubt figured out that he deliberately hadn’t contacted her when he got home. They’d talk about that, too. But not here.

People were watching. The redhead looked curious, but Jack didn’t give a damn. He caught up with Rita in two steps, took hold of her upper arm and steered her past the crowd and out the door. Once they were clear of the shop, though, Rita pulled free of his grip. “I can walk on my own, Jack.”

Without another word, she proved it, heading down the block toward the Seal Beach pier. The tree-lined street offered patches of shade and she moved from sunlight to shadow, her strides short, but sure.

He watched her for a couple of minutes, just to enjoy the view. She’d always had a world-class butt and damned if it wasn’t good to see it again. He’d forgotten how little she was. Not delicate, he told himself. Not by a long shot. The woman was fierce, which he liked and her temper was truly something to behold. But right now, it was his own temper he had to deal with. Why was she here? Why was she pregnant? And why the hell hadn’t he known about it?

His long legs covered the distance between them quickly, then he matched his stride to hers until they were stopped at a red light at Ocean Avenue. Across the street lay the beach, the ocean and the pier. Even from a distance, Jack could see surfers riding waves, fishermen dotting the pier and cyclists racing along the sidewalk.

While they waited for the light to change, he looked down at her, and inevitably, his gaze was drawn to the mound of her belly. His own insides jumped then fisted. Shoving one hand through his hair, he told himself he should have written to her as he’d said he would. Should have contacted her when he came home for good. But he’d been in a place where he hadn’t wanted to see anyone. Talk to anyone. Hell, even his family hadn’t been able to reach him.

“How long have you been home?” she asked, her voice nearly lost beneath the hum of traffic.

“Four months.”

She looked up at him and he read anger and sorrow, mingled into a dark mess that dimmed the golden light in those dark brown eyes. “Good to know.”

Before he could speak again the light changed and she stepped off the curb. Once again he took her arm and when she would have shaken him off, he firmly held on.

Once they crossed the street, she pulled away and he let her go, following after her as she stalked toward a small green park at the edge of a parking lot. Just beyond was a kids’ playground, and beside that, the pier that snaked out into the sea.

The wind whipped her ponytail and tugged at the edges of his suit jacket. She turned to look up at him and when she spoke, he heard both pain and temper in her voice.

“I thought you were dead.”

“Rita—”

“No.” She shook her head and held up one hand to keep him silent. “You let me think it,” she accused. “You told me you’d write to me. You didn’t. You’ve been home four months and never looked for me.”

Jack blew out a breath. “No, I didn’t.”

She rocked back on her heels as if he’d struck her. “Wow. You’re not even sorry, are you?”

His gaze fixed on hers. “No, I’m not. There are reasons for what I did.”

She folded her arms across her chest, unconsciously drawing his attention to her belly again. “Can’t wait to hear them.”

Two

Rita was shaking.

Her hands clenched, she tried to ease her galloping heartbeat and steady her breathing. But just standing beside Jack Buchanan made that almost impossible. She slid a glance at him from beneath lowered lashes and her breath caught. Even in profile, he was almost too gorgeous. That black hair, longer now than it had been when they met, those ice-blue eyes, strong jaw, firm mouth, all came together until a knot of emotion settled in her throat, nearly choking her.

For one magical week six months ago, she had been in love and she’d thought he felt the same. Then he was gone, and she was alone, waiting for a letter that never came. So the last several months, Rita had been convinced he was dead. Killed in service on his last tour of duty. When they met, she knew he was a Marine on R and R. Knew that he would be returning to danger. But somehow, she’d convinced herself that he would be safe. That he would come back. To her.

He’d promised to write and when she didn’t hear from him, Rita had mourned him. She’d had to face the stark, shattering truth that he was never coming home again. That he’d made the ultimate sacrifice and everything they’d found together so briefly was over.

And now, he was here.

“How did you find me?”

He shook his head. “I didn’t. I was just walking down the street. Heard your laugh and it stopped me cold.”

Oh, God. Just an accident. A whim of Fate. He hadn’t been looking for her. Had probably forgotten all about her the moment he left her six months ago. And what had she done? Mourned. Grieved. The memory of that pain fueled her next words.

“I thought you were dead,” she finally said, and hoped he couldn’t hear the pain in her voice.

He took a breath, blew it out and said, “I wanted you to.”

Another blow and this one had her reeling. He’d wanted her to mourn him? To go through the pain of a loss so deeply felt that it had been weeks before she’d even been able to function? The only thing that had kept her going, that had gotten her out of bed in the mornings, was her baby. Knowing that Jack had left her with this gift, this child, had given her strength. She’d gone on, telling herself that Jack would want her to.

Now she finds out he wanted her to believe he was dead?

“Who are you?” she asked, shaking her head and blinking furiously to keep tears she wouldn’t show him at bay.

“The same guy you used to know,” he ground out.

“No.” She stiffened her spine, lifted her chin and glared at him. “The Jack I knew would never have put me through the last six months.”

For an instant, she thought she saw shame flash across his eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared, so Rita put it down to wishful thinking.

“This isn’t about me,” he said quietly and she heard the tight control in his voice. “You’re pregnant.”

“Very observant.” God. She wrapped her arms around her belly protectively.

“How far along?”

Shocked, Rita bit back the words that first flew to her mouth. Temper spiked, and she had to wrestle it into submission. She knew what he was asking—who’s the father? And she didn’t know if she was more hurt than angry or if it was a tie between the two.

“Six months,” she said pointedly. “So your cleverly veiled question is answered. You’re the father.”

Not that she was happy about that at the moment. She loved her baby, had loved its father. But this stranger looking down at her through icy cold eyes was someone she didn’t even recognize.

“And you didn’t tell me about it.”

Before she could stop it, a short, sharp laugh shot from her throat. Shaking her head in complete wonder at his ridiculous statement, she countered, “How was I supposed to do that, Jack? I had no way of contacting you. You were going to write to me with your address.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched and his eyes narrowed, but she didn’t care.

“I don’t think sending a letter addressed to Jack Buchanan, United States Marine Corps, somewhere in a desert would have found you.”

“Fine. I get it.” He pushed the edges of his jacket back and stuffed his hands into his pockets. The wind lifted his dark red power tie, turning it into a waving flag. His hair was ruffled, his eyes were cold and his jaw tight. “Like I said, there were reasons.”

“Still haven’t heard them.”

“Yeah. Not important right now. What is important,” he said, his gaze shifting to the mound of her belly and back up to her eyes again, “is my baby.”

“You mean my baby,” she corrected and instantly wished she hadn’t come to work that day. If she’d taken the day off, she wouldn’t have been in the bakery when he walked by and none of this would be happening.

“Rita, if you think I’m walking away from this, you’re wrong.”

“Why wouldn’t I think that?” she argued, moving away from him, instinctively keeping a safe distance between him and her child. “You walked away before. Never looked back.”

“That’s not true,” he muttered, letting his gaze slide from hers to focus on the ocean instead. “I thought about you.”

Her heart twisted, but Rita wouldn’t allow herself to be swayed. He’d walked away. Shut her out. Let her mourn him, for heaven’s sake. I thought about you just didn’t make up for the misery she’d lived through.

“And I should believe you?”

He slanted her a glance. “Believe or not, it changes nothing.”

“That much is true anyway,” Rita agreed. “Look, I have to get back to work.”

“Your boss won’t fire you if you take more than fifteen minutes.”

She laughed a little, but there was no warmth in it. “I am the boss. It’s my bakery and I have to get back to it.”

“Yours?”

“Yeah,” she said, turning away to head back up Main Street.

“Why did you come here?” he asked and had her pausing to look over her shoulder at him. “I mean, here, Seal Beach. You lived in Utah when we met.”

Rita stared at him and whether she wanted to admit it to herself or not, there was a jolt of need inside her she couldn’t quite ignore. With the sun pouring down on him, he looked both dangerous and appealing. He was tall and broad-shouldered and even in an elegant suit, he looked...intimidating. Was it any wonder why she’d fallen so hard for him?

That was then, she reminded herself; this was now.

“I moved here because I wanted to feel closer to you,” she admitted, then added, “of course, that’s when I thought you were dead. Now, the only thing that’s dead is what I felt for you.”

When she walked away, Rita felt his gaze fix on her. And she knew this wouldn’t be the last time she’d see him.

And that was both worrying and comforting.

* * *

That afternoon, Jack went back to the bakery, took a table that allowed him to keep his back to a wall and ordered coffee. A seemingly never-ending stream of customers came and went, laughed, chatted and walked out with red bakery boxes. This was her place, Jack thought with admiration. The shop was small but it had an old-world elegance to it.

Gleaming wood floors, dark blue granite counters, brass-and-chrome cash register, glistening glass display cases boasting pastries and cookies. There were brass sconces on the walls and pots of flowers and trailing greenery in strategic spots. It looked, he thought, just as she wanted it to. Like an exclusive Italian shop.

His gaze tracked her employees as they hustled to serve their customers, then shifted to land on Rita herself. She was still ignoring him, but he didn’t mind. Gave him time to think.

Jack’s mind was still buzzing. Not only at news of the baby but at seeing Rita again. He’d worked for months to wipe her out of his memories and now everything came rushing back in a tidal wave of images.

He saw her standing at the water’s edge, moonlight spearing down on her from a cold, black sky. December at the beach was cold and she was wearing a jacket, but she was holding her shoes in one hand and letting the icy water lick at her toes.

Her hair was a tangle of dark brown curls that lifted and swirled around her head in the ever-present wind. She heard him approaching and instantly turned her head to look at him. He should have walked on, cut away from her and headed for the pier, but something about her made him stop. He kept a safe distance between them because he didn’t want to worry her, but as he looked into her big brown eyes, he felt drawn to her like nothing he’d ever experienced before.

“Don’t be scared,” he said. “I’m harmless.”

She smiled faintly and tipped her head to one side. “Oh, I doubt that. But I’m not scared.”

“Why not?” he asked, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Empty beach, in the dark, strange guy...”

“You don’t seem so strange. Plus, I’m pretty tough,” she said. “And I run really fast.”

He laughed, admiring the way she stood there, so calm and self-assured. “Noted.”

“So,” she said, “I’m a tourist. What’s your excuse for being at the beach when it’s this cold?”

Jack turned to look out over the spread of black water dotted with white froth as it tumbled toward shore. “I’ve been away for a while, so I want to appreciate this view.”

“You’re in the military?” she asked.

He glanced at her and smiled. “That obvious?”

“It’s the haircut,” she admitted, smiling.

“Yeah,” he scrubbed one hand across the top of his head. “Hard to disguise I guess. Marines.”

She smiled and he thought she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

“Well, thank you for your service,” she said, then added, “do you get tired of people saying that?”

“Nope,” he assured her. “That never gets old. So, a tourist. From where?”

“Utah,” she said, smiling. “Ogden, specifically.”

“It’s pretty,” he said. “Though it’s been a few years since I’ve been there.”

Her smile brightened, nearly blinding him with the power of it. “Thanks, it is gorgeous, and I love the mountains. Especially in fall. But—” she half turned, letting her gaze slide across the ocean “—this is hard to resist.”

“Yeah, I’ve missed it.”

“I bet,” she said, tipping her head to one side to look at him. “How long have you been gone?”

He shrugged, not really wanting to bring the desert heat and the memory of gunfire into this moment. “Too long.”

As if she understood what he wasn’t saying, she only nodded and they fell into silence until the only sound was the pulse and beat of the sea as it surged toward shore only to rush back out again.

At last, though, she reached up to push her hair back out of her face, smiled again and said, “I should be getting back to the hotel. It was nice meeting you.”

“But we didn’t,” he interrupted quickly, suddenly desperate to keep her from leaving. “Meet, I mean. I’m Jack.”

“Rita.”

“I like it.”

“Thanks.”

“Do you really have to get back, or could I buy you a cup of coffee?”

She studied him for a long minute or two, then nodded. “I’d like that, Jack.”

“I’m glad, but you sure are trusting.”

“Actually,” she said quietly, “I’m really not. But for some reason...”

“Yeah,” he answered. “There’s something...”

He walked toward her and held out one hand. She took it and the instant he touched her, he felt a hot buzz of something bright, staggering. He looked down at their joined hands, then closed his fingers around hers. “Come with me, Rita. I know just the place.”

“Excuse me.”

The tone of those words told Jack that it wasn’t the first time the woman standing beside his table had said them. It was the redhead. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Rita says to tell you this is on the house,” she said, setting a plate with two cannoli on it in front of him.

He frowned a little.

“Yeah, she told me you wouldn’t look happy about it,” the woman said. “I’m Casey. Can I get you more coffee?”

“Sure, thanks.” She picked up his cup and walked to the counter, but Jack stopped paying attention almost immediately. Instead, his gaze sought out Rita.

As if she was expecting it, she turned to meet his stare and even from across that crowded room, it felt to Jack as it had that first night. As if they were alone on a deserted beach.

Well, damn it.

Casey was back an instant later with a fresh cup of coffee. Never taking his eyes off Rita, Jack leaned against the wall behind him and slowly sipped at his coffee. They had a lot to talk about. Too bad it wasn’t talking on his mind.

* * *

A couple of hours later, the customers were gone and Rita was closing up. He’d already seen the sign that advertised their hours—open at seven, closed at six. Now as twilight settled on the beach, he watched Rita turn the deadbolt and flip the closed sign. Jack had had enough coffee to float one of his cargo ships and he’d had far too long to sit by himself and watch as she moved through the life she’d built since he’d last seen her.

“Why did you stay here all day, Jack?” She walked toward him. “This is borderline stalking.”

“Not stalking. Sitting. Eating cannoli.”

Her lips twitched and he found himself hoping she might show him that wide smile that he’d seen the first night they met. But it didn’t come, so he let it go.

“Should you be on your feet this much?” he blurted.

Both of her eyebrows lifted as she set both fists on her hips. “Really?”

“It’s a reasonable question,” he insisted. “You’re pregnant.”

Now her big brown eyes went wide with feigned surprise. “I am?”

Jack sighed at the ridiculousness of the conversation. “Funny. Look, I just found out about this, so you could cut me some slack.”

She took the chair opposite him, sitting down with a sigh of relief. “Why should I? It’s not my fault you didn’t know about the baby. You could have been a part of this from the beginning, Jack, if you had written to me.” She reached over and plucked a dry leaf off the closest potted plant. Then she looked at him again. “But you didn’t. Instead, you disappeared and let me think you were dead.”

Yeah, he could see this from her side, and he didn’t much care for the view. But that didn’t change the fact that he’d done what he thought was necessary at the time. He’d had to put her out of his mind to survive when he went back to his duty station. Thoughts of her hadn’t had any place in that hot, sandy miserable piece of ground and keeping her in his mind only threatened the concentration he needed to keep himself and his men alive.

Sure, at first, he’d thought that having her to think about would get him through, remind him that there was another world outside the desperate one he was caught up in. But two weeks after returning to deployment, something had happened to convince him that images of home were only a distraction. That keeping her face in his mind was dangerous.

So, he’d pushed the memories into a dark, deep corner of his brain and closed a door on them. It hadn’t been easy, but he’d been convinced that it was the right thing to do.

Now he wasn’t so sure.

“Why?” she asked, folding her hands on top of the small round glass-topped table. “You could at least tell me that much. Why did you never write, Jack?”

His gaze locked on hers. “It really doesn’t matter now, does it? It’s done. We have to deal with now.”

Shaking her head, Rita sat back in the chair, and tapped the fingers of her right hand against the tabletop. “There is no we, Jack. Not anymore.”

Beside him, a wide window overlooked Main Street. Late afternoon sunlight shone on the sidewalks, illuminating the people strolling through the early evening cool. It looked so normal. So peaceful. Yet seeing even that small crowd of pedestrians had Jack’s insides going on alert. He didn’t like the fact that he couldn’t really relax around a lot of people anymore, but he had to accept that fact. So he turned away from strangers to look at a woman he’d once known so well.

“As long as there’s a baby, there’s a we,” he told her. “If you think I’m going to walk away from my own kid, you’re wrong.”

Instinctively, she dropped her hands to the curve of her belly and he realized she made that move a lot. Was it something all women did, or was Rita feeling threatened by seeing him again?

“Jack—”

“We can talk about it, work it out together,” he said, interrupting her to make sure she understood where he was on this. “But bottom line, I’m here now. You’re going to have to deal with it.”

“You don’t get to give me orders, Jack.” She gave him a sad smile. “I live my own life. I run my own business. I raise my own child.”

“And mine.”

“Since your half and mine are intertwined,” she quipped, “yes.”

“Not acceptable.” And this conversation was veering into the repetitive. It was getting him nowhere fast and he could see the flash of stubborn determination in her eyes that told him she wasn’t going to budge. Well, hell. He could out-stubborn anyone.

“I really think you should go, Jack.” She stood up, rubbing her belly idly with one hand.

He followed that motion and felt his heart trip-hammer in his chest. His child. Inside the woman that had been his so briefly. Damned if he’d leave. Walk away. It probably would have been better for all of them, but he wouldn’t be doing it.

“I’ll take you home,” he said, standing to look down at her.

She chuckled. “I am home. I live in the apartment upstairs.”

“You’re kidding.” He frowned, glanced at the ceiling as if he could see through the barrier into what had to be a very small apartment. “You live over a bakery.”

She stiffened at the implied insult. “It’s convenient. I get up at four every morning to start the baking, so all I have to do is walk downstairs.”

“You’re not raising my kid above a bakery.”

When her eyes flashed and one dark eyebrow winged up, he knew he’d stepped wrong. But it didn’t matter how he’d said it if the end was the same. His kid was not going to live above a bakery. Period.

“And, the circle is complete,” she said, walking to the front door. She unlocked it, opened it wide and waved one hand as if scooping him out the door. “I want you to leave, Jack.”

“All right.” He conceded on this point. For now. He started past her, then stopped when their bodies were just a breath apart. When he caught her scent and could almost feel the heat shimmering off her body. Everything in him twisted tight and squeezed. Giving in to the urge driving him, he reached out, took her chin in his hand and tipped her face up until her eyes were locked with his. “This isn’t over, Rita. It’s just getting started.”

* * *

Sitting on her couch in her—all right, yes, tiny apartment—Rita curled her feet underneath her as her fingers tightened on her cellphone. “What am I supposed to do, Gina?”

Instead of answering, her sister called out, “Ally, do not pour milk on the dog again.”

“But why?” A young, loud voice shouted in response.

In spite of everything going on in her life at the moment, Rita grinned. Ally was two years old with a hard head, a stubborn streak a mile wide and a sweet smile that usually got her out of trouble.

“Because he doesn’t like it!” Gina huffed out a breath, came back on the line, and whispered, “Actually he does like it, idiot dog. Then he spends all night licking the milk off himself, my floor is sticky and he smells like sour milk.”

It was times like these that Rita really missed her family. Her parents. Her sister. Her two older brothers. All of her nieces and nephews. They were all in Ogden, working at the family bakery, Marchetti’s. Rita’s family was loud, boisterous, argumentative and sometimes she missed them so much she actually ached to be with them.