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“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?”
One corner of her mouth twitched, but she only nodded. “Chance it is, then.” She studied him for a long minute, then said, “You know, you’ve the look of your father around the eyes. More so than your brother does.”
Chance shifted uncomfortably. He didn’t necessarily want to be reminded that he looked like the man who’d managed to ignore both him and his brother their whole lives. What was he supposed to say to that, anyway? Thank you didn’t seem appropriate somehow. So he ignored the comment entirely.
After all, it wasn’t as if he’d come here looking to find family. He already had his family. Douglas. With the death of their mother, all they had left was each other. And that had always been enough before.
The only reason he was here at all was as a favor to Doug. And if he hadn’t been shot by that sneaky little terrorist on his last mission, he wouldn’t have had to put up with any of the pomp and circumstance surrounding the Connellys. But then, he wouldn’t have been here to ride to Jennifer’s rescue, either, would he?
And that thought returned him to why he’d come to the kitchen in the first place.
“Any chance I could get a glass of water and a box of tissues?” he asked.
Ruby narrowed her eyes thoughtfully as she looked at him. “Feel a crying jag coming on, do you?”
Chance played along. “Yes, ma’am. I’m feeling real emotional.”
She snorted. “Yeah, I can see that.” But without another word, she bustled around the room and came back with just what he’d asked for. As he turned to leave the room, though, her voice stopped him. “You tell Jennifer for me that everything’s going to be all right.”
He looked at her. Shouldn’t be surprised, he thought. He’d already discovered that nothing much went on around here that Ruby didn’t know about. “What?”
“I’ve been with the Connellys for more years than I care to admit. Not much gets past me. I know there’s something wrong.”
Nodding, he told her, “You would have made a good admiral.”
“Phooey,” she said, waving one hand to dismiss him. “Admirals are small stuff. I’d have made a good president.”
“You know something?” he said, giving her a wink, “I believe you.” Then he slipped from the room before she could give him any orders he’d be too afraid not to follow.
“Oh, this is good,” Jennifer told herself aloud as she clutched the balcony railing and stared out at Lake Michigan. “Way to ensure your employment, Jen.” Shaking her head, she blinked back tears that still threatened and solemnly vowed they wouldn’t fall. She’d already screwed up big-time.
What had she been thinking? Crying on the shoulder of the guest of honor at her employer’s party. The one time she indulged in a good old-fashioned pity party, she had to be caught by Mr. Tall, Dark and Dangerous.
“For goodness’ sake,” she grumbled, tightening her grip on the cold iron railing. She lifted her face into the wind sweeping in off the lake and told herself that if she was very lucky, the newest addition to the Connelly family would keep her embarrassing behavior to himself.
Although, for all she knew he was inside now, trying to get Emma to come out and comfort her, readily handing off the crazed secretary to someone else. She could almost imagine him, stalking through the party, heading for the front door as fast as he could. And she couldn’t really blame him, either.
What man wanted to be a human tissue for a weeping woman? Especially one he hardly knew.
Behind her, the glass door slid open, allowing a brief pulse of conversation and piano music onto the balcony, and in an instant, the door closed again, sealing off the intrusion.
She didn’t turn around. She didn’t have to. She knew who it was. She felt his presence almost as an electrical charge. Her nerve endings hummed and the hairs at the back of her neck stood straight up.
Probably not a good sign.
“Sorry I took so long,” he said and darned if his voice didn’t scrape along those already tense nerves.
Get a grip, Jen. He’s your boss’s stepson. He’s a stranger. He doesn’t give a damn about your problems and there’s nothing between you but an embarrassing crying jag.
So why was her stomach suddenly in knots and her breath coming fast and hard?
Because you’re an idiot, she told herself just before turning to look at him.
Well, that didn’t help any. He was just too darned good-looking, that was the problem. He looked like a poster boy for navy recruiting. Or like one of those navy lawyers on that television show. His uniform shone a bright white against the backdrop of the blue lake and shimmering April sky. The ribbons decorating his chest drew her eye as did the SEAL pin he wore proudly. Then she looked farther up, into his eyes, and saw…concern. And that nearly did her in on the spot.
Darn it.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Oh, dandy,” she told him and sniffed.
He held out the box of tissues and she gratefully snatched one free of the dispenser. She wiped her eyes, blew her nose and still didn’t feel better.
“Here, drink this.” He offered the tall, pale-blue glass he carried.
“What is it?” she asked as she reached for it. “Hemlock?”
“Nothing so deadly,” he said with a half laugh. “Just water.”
She took a drink, letting the liquid soothe her tight throat before trying to talk again. Lifting her gaze to his, she said, “Thank you. For the tissue and the water.”
“Here to serve, ma’am,” he said.
“But I bet you didn’t expect to have to go above and beyond the call at a party.”
He shrugged. “Hey, a party, a terrorist situation—the SEALS can handle it all.”
“Good to know,” she muttered, then, still clutching her glass of water, turned around again to stare out at the lake. She couldn’t keep looking at him. That just wasn’t good for her equilibrium. Way better on her nerves to stare out at a lake the size of an ocean, its choppy waves slapping toward Lake Shore Drive.
“Tell me about your daughter,” he said quietly and Jennifer’s eyes closed briefly on a twinge of something as painful as it was tender.
But she supposed she owed him this, for crying all over him.
“Sarah’s so smart,” she said, and though her voice started out thin and trembling, talking about her pride and joy strengthened it. Shaking her head, she continued, “She started talking before she was a year old and now she’s already arguing with me.” Jennifer chuckled, and the sound grated against her throat. “When she’s a teenager—” when not if, she told herself silently “—we’ll probably lock horns all the time.”
“Probably,” he said agreeably. “God knows Doug and I drove our poor mother nuts when we were teenagers. Of course your Sarah most likely won’t be into drag racing, so that’s one worry you won’t have.”
She flicked him a glance, not at all surprised by his little admission. He was a SEAL, after all. And clearly he loved his job. So it naturally followed that as a kid, he would have sought out dangerous pastimes.
Just like Mike, she thought with an inward acknowledgment of old pain. The two of them would have gotten along great together, no doubt. Then, as if he’d sensed what she was thinking, the man beside her spoke up again.
“Your husband must be just as proud of her as you are,” Chance said.
“My husband’s dead,” she said, tasting the words it had taken her so long to get used to saying.
“Oh. I’m sorry,” he said.
“You didn’t know,” she said softly. “No reason to be sorry. He’s been gone almost two years now.” She sighed heavily. “He never even knew Sarah.”
A long uncomfortable minute passed before he said, “I was raised by a single mother,” he said. “I know how hard it is.”
