Welcome Home, Daddy Read online

  Drew stood and reached for her as if he wanted to pull her into a hug

  A part of Annie longed to accept the comfort he offered. But she couldn’t. The stakes were too high.

  Raising her hand, she said, “Don’t. I just wanted you to understand.”

  “I had no idea.” His voice was husky. “But you’re wrong about one thing. I wouldn’t have missed it. I could have taken compassionate leave to be there for both of you. You never gave me the chance.”

  Annie almost flinched at the loss in his voice. She couldn’t continue to beat herself up wishing she’d done things differently. “So here we are, back where we started.”

  Dear Reader,

  People often ask where I get the ideas for my books. I wish the answer was clear-cut. The truth is, my ideas come in bits and pieces from all sorts of sources. And the process is different with each book.

  Welcome Home, Daddy started as the kernel of an idea when a man from my community became a military chaplain. Though I didn’t know him, I was struck by the sheer courage and dedication of his decision. The sacrifices are huge, the hours long, the work sometimes never-ending.

  Then my questions began. What kind of man chooses this challenge? What does it mean to his life? And how in the world can he maintain a romantic relationship, particularly if the love of his life is opposed to his decision?

  I played with these possibilities until Drew and Annie were born. The magical part came when I discovered they had a shared history and, surprise, surprise, a son! I hope you enjoy Drew and Annie’s story—it’s a special one.

  I always enjoy hearing from readers at [email protected]. And please feel free to stop by my Web site, www.carrieweaver.com.

  Yours in reading,

  Carrie Weaver

  WELCOME HOME, DADDY

  Carrie Weaver

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  With two teenage sons, three cats and a dog, Carrie Weaver leads a full life! She loves to wind down by indulging in chocolate and reading a good book—yes, the pages occasionally get smudged. The stories she writes reflect real life and real love, with all the ups, downs and emotion involved.

  Books by Carrie Weaver

  HARLEQUIN SUPERROMANCE

  1173—THE ROAD TO ECHO POINT

  1222—THE SECOND SISTER

  1274—THE SECRET WIFE

  1311—HOME FOR CHRISTMAS

  1346—FOUR LITTLE PROBLEMS

  1387—SECRETS IN TEXAS

  1447—TEMPORARY NANNY

  1476—BABY, I’M YOURS

  In loving memory of my mom

  Mary Ellen Tinker

  1928–2009

  ACKNOWLEDGMENT

  I’d like to thank Marilee Hill for sharing her insights as a sign language interpreter.

  Any errors made in translating the real world to fiction are strictly mine.

  CONTENTS

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  EPILOGUE

  PROLOGUE

  ANNIE TEETERED ACROSS the parking lot on Kat’s ridiculously high stilettos. Take-me-now shoes, or so her friend claimed. Annie snorted. She certainly didn’t want to be taken—now or ever again. That meant no hot, sweaty, ill-advised sex for her. When she ended her stint of celibacy—three years and counting—it would involve commitment, stability and a guy with a solid life plan. It did not include being dressed like a Goth hooker while embarking on a pity date, blind or otherwise.

  Fighting the urge to readjust the red thong Kat had bought her for this special occasion, Annie eyed the expanse of asphalt parking lot looming between her and the side entrance to the lounge. The mid-May Arizona heat and synthetic fabric made her perspire in places she didn’t want to think about.

  Squaring her shoulders, she stumbled onward. She could do this. She’d endured worse than the Lycra miniskirt from hell.

  Finally, Annie stepped inside the dimly lit lounge. After the harsh angle of the afternoon sun, she was effectively blinded, only able to discern vague shapes and shadows.

  She detected movement as a human form separated itself from the bar and approached.

  Blinking, Annie wished Kat had at least shown her a photo of the guy. He must be hideous. But then again, she recalled Kat saying he was drop-dead gorgeous, when she’d dated him through a popular online site. He simply hadn’t rung her bells. Annie suspected it was because Kat’s bells had already been rung by her almost-fiancé, Dillon, though they’d been on the outs at the time.

  Or it might just mean this guy lacked the bad-boy charm that drew Kat like Silly Putty to shag carpeting.

  Annie pushed her glasses into place, hoping it would help her focus. It didn’t. Her transition lenses weren’t transitioning quickly enough. She took them off and shoved them into her purse.

  Ah, that was better. Things at a distance were still a blur, but at least she didn’t feel as if she’d entered the Batcave. The Cantina Restaurant and Lounge was always kept appropriately dark and at subzero temperatures, she presumed to facilitate the impression of cool tropical breezes. Her nipples puckered at a particularly frigid gust.

  She moved forward, almost walking past the looming figure.

  “Grace?”

  Then Annie remembered who she was for the evening. “Um, yes, that’s me. Grace. You’re Drew?”

  “Yes.”

  She extended her hand at the same time he leaned in for a hug. He stopped and extended his hand at the same time she retracted hers and leaned stiffly from the waist.

  Somehow, they managed to approximate an awkward hug.

  Annie sighed. Kat would have handled this so much better.

  “I’m glad you took pity on me and came out on such short notice,” he said.

  If only he knew. But it looked like the joke was on her. Because if anyone was on the pitying end, it would have to be this gorgeous specimen of man. Even in Kat’s flashy clothes and sporting new blond highlights in her hair, there was no way Annie was anywhere near this guy’s league. The realization made her glad she’d given up on the more macho specimens years ago.

  “Um, no problem. Kat said you’re shipping out in a couple of days?”

  “Yeah. I’m at loose ends until I fly out day after tomorrow.” He touched her elbow. “How about that table over there?”

  Annie sighed in relief as she selected a chair. A table, not an intimate booth. She didn’t know if she could handle being cooped up in an enclosed space with so much man. Not because he scared her—his warm brown eyes were surprisingly reassuring—but because he fairly oozed testosterone, from the top of his nearly shaved head, past his tanned, hard biceps, to his presumably sculpted abs. And she’d been avoiding such obvious masculine virility since she’d decided the course her life must take.

  Sneaking one last, longing glance down his fine form, she suppressed a pang of irritation. If this guy hadn’t attracted Kat, her friend had either been half-dead or really, really in love with Dillon the Deadbeat.

  Annie licked her lips and searched for a topic of conversation “So, you’re in the army?”

  “Reser
ves. Got called up for a second tour of active duty.”

  “I’m sorry. That’s got to be rough.”

  “It’s hard on my mom. She worries.”

  “Yes, mothers have a way of doing that.”

  The waitress placed cocktail napkins on the table and glanced at Annie. “What can I get you?”

  “Iced tea,” Annie mumbled. A martini would have been so much more sophisticated, but she couldn’t stand the things.

  Drew ordered a beer.

  The waitress rushed off, stopping to take several drink orders on her way to the bar. Poor thing, she seemed to be the only one on duty.

  Annie glanced around the lounge. Finally, she asked, “Can you tell me about where you’re going?”

  He shook his head. “It’s sensitive.”

  “That means dangerous?”

  He hesitated.

  Beneath the table, she crossed her fingers, hoping he’d tell her he was a supply clerk terrified at the sight of blood. And explain a detailed life plan that would do an underwriter proud. Because, despite her resolve, he was exactly the type of man who would have appealed to her pre-epiphany self.

  Drew shrugged. “I’ll be in a hot spot.”

  Kat probably would have said something witty, a double entendre about Mr. Hot Stuff.

  But all Annie could do was swallow the lump in her throat and squeak, “How hot?”

  He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “So-so, I guess. I know I’ll be seeing action and…this probably sounds weird, but…I’ve made sure my affairs are in order.”

  Translated, his chances of coming home whole and unharmed were slim. She’d heard of cases where soldiers had premonitions of being killed. Was that what he was trying to tell her?

  “Like making sure your plants are watered while you’re gone?”

  “More like giving away most of my stuff and making sure my folks know where my important papers are.”

  Annie swallowed hard. Impressing Drew Vincent was a moot point. There would be no future for him. He was a marked man. And somehow, knowing that up front eased her mind, while at the same time making her very, very sad.

  The waitress barely slowed as she deposited the drinks in front of them and was gone.

  Annie sipped her drink while she tried not to think of this healthy, nice and totally together man being felled by an IED or suicide bomber.

  Frowning, she tried to figure out what type of iced tea they’d used. Peach? No. And not raspberry.

  He reached out and touched the back of her hand. “Hey, don’t look so sad. I know how to take care of myself. I’ll be fine.”

  Yeah, that’s exactly what her dad had said only hours before plunging down the side of a mountain.

  But she couldn’t call this guy on his bravado. It might jinx him. Instead, she took a long drink, a little surprised at the way it warmed her throat.

  Suddenly, it all became clear, her reason for being here. This wasn’t about a silly blind date. It was about reassuring a guy who quite possibly wouldn’t survive his tour overseas. It was about putting him at ease.

  Annie twined her fingers through his and lied, “I know you’ll be fine.”

  ANNIE WOKE UP WITH A start, aware that something wasn’t right. It might have been the deep, even breathing coming from the other side of the bed. Or it might have been the muscular arm draped over her waist. But the dead giveaway was the now unfamiliar tenderness in her nether regions from a long night of hot sex.

  Mostly it was her overwhelming urge to cry. Again.

  Memories of sobbing all over Drew’s impressive shoulder after they’d made love tempted her to pull the covers over her head.

  She’d messed up big-time, after three years of being so careful.

  Drew shifted, removing his arm.

  Annie held her breath.

  Please don’t let him wake up.

  She had to get out of here.

  Slowly, carefully, she slid out of bed. Gathering her clothes, she steeled herself not to glance back at the bed. Forced herself not to take one last, lingering look at the fabulous man there. Because if she did, she might lose it and dissolve into tears. Or worse yet, crawl back between the covers and spend the remainder of the morning convincing herself that Drew could be the kind of solid man of her dreams.

  The sheets rustled behind her.

  Annie froze.

  Carefully, she glanced around.

  Moonlight spilled through the slats in the wood blinds, softening the sharp planes of his face. His eyes remained closed, but he muttered something. Her chest ached at the thought that a man so vital could be obliterated in a matter of seconds.

  She tried not to make a sound as she pulled on her clothes. Then she eased out the door and closed it softly.

  DREW AWOKE AND immediately knew something was wrong.

  He remembered he was in a hotel room. Still in Phoenix.

  Then awareness assaulted him.

  His gaze fell on the empty bed beside him.

  “Grace?”

  He hoped her sweet voice would respond from the bathroom. But…nothing.

  Closing his eyes, he fought a wave of disappointment. And something else, something much stronger.

  He raised his head and groaned. “Shit.”

  Rubbing his temples, he willed the pounding to stop. He hadn’t tied one on like that in years. It was a wonder he’d been any good to Grace at all.

  But the memories came flashing back and he knew they’d been very good together.

  Grace, alternately shy and passionate, hesitant and daring. He grew hard as he recalled her riding him, the long, slender column of her throat exposed to the moonlight as she threw her head back, her golden hair falling around her face, tousled.

  Shit.

  He also remembered her tears after they’d finished. And the tenderness he’d felt when he cradled her, whispering reassurances and words of love.

  The endearments had simply been postnookie lies, hadn’t they? Not really lies, because everyone fudged the truth with a one-night stand.

  He wasn’t sure. All he knew was that Grace had staved off that oppressive cloud of dread. The one that told him he might not make it through his tour.

  CHAPTER ONE

  More than two years later…

  DREW STOOD OUTSIDE Grace’s door, shifting from foot to foot. He wondered if the bouquet of mixed flowers was overkill.

  He shrugged, then winced at the dull throb in his shoulder. A reminder of shrapnel that had mercifully missed all major organs, along with his body armor.

  What if she was married and her husband answered the door? Drew would feel foolish, but at least he’d have a clear conscience. Thoughts of Grace had both sustained and haunted him in the Middle East.

  Besides, Kat would have told him if Grace had someone in her life, wouldn’t she?

  Maybe that’s why her voice had sounded a bit strangled when he’d called. He’d gotten the distinct impression she’d been surprised to hear from him. Even more surprised that he was asking for Grace’s new phone number so long after their blind date. Kat had refused, offering instead to give a message to her friend.

  When a week passed and he hadn’t heard anything, he’d bought her contact information online for the low price of nine ninety-five. Ten bucks and a few minutes later, he’d found her. Annie Grace Marsh.

  The door opened.

  “You’re early, Kat—”

  “Grace.” It was the only word he could choke out. The reality of seeing her in front of him—with new light brown hair and funky black-rimmed glasses—was overwhelming. The kid perched on her hip barely registered.

  Her eyes widened.

  And she slammed the door.

  Of all the possible reactions, that was one he’d refused to consider. His top fantasy early in his tour had been of Grace throwing herself into his arms, inviting him inside for a repeat performance of their lovemaking. But now, the changes he wanted to make in his life dictated refusing. And having a fling wit
h her again would pretty much negate his apology. Still, he was a man and couldn’t help longing for the simpler days before he’d become uncomfortably aware of the finer distinctions between right and wrong.

  He owed Grace an apology and he intended to follow through. He couldn’t begin to contemplate making a career change until he had this settled.

  He rang the doorbell again. Then he knocked. “Come on, Grace, open up. I just want to talk.”

  Except his motives weren’t as pure as he wanted to believe. Maybe he wanted to see if they could somehow start over on a saner, slower note? See where it led? Something about Grace made it impossible to forget her. Something more than being good in the sack.

  He knocked again, louder.

  After minutes that seemed like hours, Drew knew when to admit defeat. But only temporarily. He would talk to her one way or another. He owed it to her, owed it to himself. And, probably most importantly, he owed it to the men and women he’d left behind in Iraq.

  He dropped the flowers, turned and strode away.

  AFTER THE KNOCKING STOPPED, Annie let the lullaby she was singing trail to an end. Opening her eyes, she gazed down at her son’s beautiful face as she held him in the rocker while he drifted off to sleep. Tracing his velvety cheek with her finger, she marveled that she’d brought such a perfect child into this world.

  Drew.

  Her eyes misted when she thought of the night Micah had been conceived. It had been a mistake, an error in judgment she could never regret. Because she had been given a gift that made her embarrassment seem an insignificant price to pay.

  But now she wondered.