The Seal's Secret Daughter. Christy Jeffries

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