The Daddy Salute

“The airport.”

“Airport?” Jack sounded as confused as Brian felt. But that couldn’t be. No one on earth could possibly be as confused as Brian Haley was at that particular moment.

“Why?”

“I’ll tell you later,” he said. Later. As in, when he was actually able to repeat the words he’d just heard over the phone. Right now he could hardly force himself to think them, let alone say them out loud.

“Jack, I gotta go.” He looked at his watch again. Another minute gone. He felt his life ticking away. The world as he’d known it was about to come to an abrupt end, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

“Damn it, Brian…”

He shook his head and spared his friend a quick glance. “Trust me on this. I have to go.” He pushed away from his desk, glanced at the unfinished reports and said, “I’ll take care of those tomorrow.”

“They’re due today,” Jack told him. Brian looked at him, and some of his desperation must have shown on his face because his friend took one look at him and offered, “Leave ’em. I’ll take care of it.”

“Thanks,” he muttered, and started for the door. He snatched his hat off the coatrack, then settled it firmly on his head.

“Hey!” Jack called out, and Brian stopped. “Is everything all right?”

Rubbing one hand across his face, Brian swallowed heavily and muttered, “Hell, no.”

“Call if you need help.”

Help? Hell, he was going to need all the help he could get. But it went against the grain to ask for it. He was a marine, for pity’s sake. Tough, strong, dependable. He’d stood fast in battle and lived all over the world. It was his job to protect and defend the United States of America against all of her enemies.

How in the hell could he yell help?

He nodded at Jack, muttered, “Thanks,” and left. He ran down the hall, stopping only long enough to help a corporal pick up the files Brian had knocked out of his arms. Then he was out the main door into the California sunshine.

Mentally he heard a clock ticking. Softly at first, then louder as the seconds passed. Time was running out. He had just enough time to get home, change his uniform and make it to the airport.

Then all he had to do was wait. Wait for the stranger from Child Services in South Carolina, who would soon be flying in to deliver into Brian’s care the thirteen-month-old daughter he hadn’t even known existed.

Ooh-rah.

Four

At the airport Brian stalked through the sliding glass doors and spared a quick glance at the life-size, bronze statue of John Wayne as he passed it. It had to be his imagination, but he could have sworn he heard the big man laugh at him.

But then, hell, who wouldn’t?

Hunching his shoulders, Brian hurried past The Duke, cast a quick look at the arrivals screen, then made for gate 36. His footsteps echoed hollowly against the tile, and as fast as that tapping sounded, it wasn’t as fast as the pounding of his heart.

Good God. A baby? Him?

He ran one hand across his face and tried to gather the thoughts that had been scattered since receiving that brief phone call.

He could still hear the social worker’s voice ringing in his ear. You recall having a relationship with Mariah Sutton?

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.